That's What Friends Are For
by yodeladyhoo
Summary: COMPLETE! We all know what Sarah was doing for thirteen hours in the Underground. What was Jareth doing during that time? Maurasoon's point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Summary:** We all know what Sarah did for thirteen hours in the Underground. What was Jareth doing during that time?

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating: **T

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

1. (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

2. denial of any connection with or knowledge of [syn: disavowal

c.1986, 2006 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** Okay, so I know there are others like this out there. This is my take on it. Hey, why not? For clarification, and because it has been brought to my attention, there is something screwy with my timeline. Remember, A Mother's Perspective was meant to be a oneshot.

* * *

"It is your move, Sire."

Maursoon looked up from her instrument. The men were seated closer to the center of the room, situated around the gaming table. Even from where she was sitting near the open window, she could tell that Devlin would finish the game in several short moves, even if Jareth made a late game offense. Judging from Jareth's expression and enthusiasm for tonight's game, it was highly doubtful that he would. Jareth was more than a little distracted and agitated.

Jareth rose up from the chair with a snort. "And so I shall," he said with derision, his stride created a clipped staccato on the stone floor as he walked through the garden doors into the night.

Devlin turned in his chair to glare at her. "Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast! If you can call your plucking and strumming music!"

Maurasoon decided not to grace his retort with a reply. True enough, the lute was one of her more recent hobbies after returning to the Underground, but she was not about to drag a loom into the lounge to calm Jareth's mood with the hypnotic _swish_ of the shuttle cock as it whisked rhythmically across the threads.

It was a small room, what with the gaming table in the center and comfortable, upholstered chairs along the walls awaiting players to take their seats. The walls were bare of their customary tapestries in the warm months as to allow the cloths to freshen out in the meadow after months of being subjected to the smoke and soot of the wall sconces. The only wall decorations that were still in their place were some musical instruments; a harp, a viol, a psaltery, and some assorted wind instruments of wood, bone and horn.

"Go to him, Mauri. Perhaps he needs the company of a woman."

"Perhaps it's not the company of **a woman** that he needs, Dee" she said pointedly. Devlin averted his eyes as he turned away. The light from the banked fire danced in the folds and creases of his russet silk shirt. Devlin did an excellent job of orchestrating and pacing the caravan of dignitaries and responsibilities that besieged their King daily, but she'd be damned if he started treating her as one of Jareth's 'appointments'.

Maurasoon arranged the sheet music on the stand neatly and rose from her straight backed chair. She smoothed the linen of her gown before lifting the instrument to place it on its hook on the wall behind her, biding her time so as not to utter something that she would truly regret. "I'll go to him, Lord Secretary, but not at your behest," she settled on saying as she reached for the gossamer shawl that was draped over the back of the chair and arranged it across her back. "Should I give His Highness your regards for a pleasant night?" Her expression was one of pure annoyance at his earlier insinuation.

Devlin shot her a sarcastic glance as he snorted. He picked up his brandy snifter as he stood up out of his wingback chair. In the indirect light of the fireplace and sconces, the warm brown of his shirt pulled away from the burgundy of the upholstery as if a couple, who were engaged in a waltz, were being forcibly extricated from each others arms. He drained his glass. "As you will, Lady. I am retiring for the night."

"Upon the morrow then, sir," she replied with a curtsy. He responded with a polite bow before leaving the room. Maurasoon composed herself and calmed her temper as she turned to find her king in the night.

She found him by the night blooming jasmines. The trellis supporting the foliage was lost in overgrowth of feathery leaves and dainty blossoms. Their exotic, heady perfume overwhelmed her olfactory receptors to distraction. Just the sort of thing to help stop an overactive mind. Just the thing that Jareth needed to do.

She approached him silently on slippers fabricated with goat hide soles, the lightweight skirt of her gown gently billowing out with each step. Although it was early Lughnasadh, the nights were still cool enough to require a shawl over her bare arms. Her hands were clasped low in front of her hips to help keep it in place. He appeared to not have noticed her, his back turned towards her as he gazed through the flower-heavy vines that draped the trellis into the night. Even seemingly lost in thought, his regal aura spread out around him, cowing all that surrounded him.

"And why do you come to disturb your King?"

Maurasoon walked until she stood shoulder to shoulder with Jareth. "My king has need for me. I live to serve my king." She reached to gently grasp a bloom from its vine to admire its petite symmetry.

Turning his head to look at her, he replied, "I voiced no such request for service this evening from you."

"Not all requests need to be voiced," she answered softly as she turned and offered the flower to Jareth.

He accepted the offering and sighed, his defenses dropping down just a notch. "You always seem to know, don't you, Mauri?"

"Not always," she said with a compassionate smile, "but I've had some experience at knowing when someone needs to talk and when someone needs time to ponder." She tilted her head in deliberation. "Do you know which you need at this time?"

Jareth looked at her with an intensity that was both directed at her as well as inward. His elegantly sheathed fingers absently twirled the pale flower still in his hands. He allowed his gaze to wander over her shoulder as he spoke. "I suppose that is part of the issue," he said softly, more to himself, as his voice trailed off. He quickly regained his composure and turned to face away from her. "Perhaps some contemplation. Perhaps later I will seek your companionship."

Maurasoon nodded more to herself as she understood the unspoken dismissal. "No door is ever locked to you, my Liege." She quietly turned to take her leave along the same path she took to find him.

"Maura."

She paused to look back at her friend. He hadn't moved; he was as still as a statue but she did not need to see his eyes to understand what he needed to hear. A gentle breeze rustled the flora and his hair in unison. "I'll leave the window open tonight, Jay."

* * *

**Author's Note**:

"_Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,  
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak."_  
This quote is commonly misquoted as "savage beast."  
-William Congreve

Lughnasadh is the Celtic name for the harvest season. It comprised of August, September and October. It is usually considered autumn on Earth, but I'm hoping to give the impression that it is late summer.

I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:**That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Summary:** A day in the life; meet the characters

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

1. (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

2. denial of any connection with or knowledge of syn: disavowal

c.1986, 2006 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** I know there is a lot of character development in here that may not seem relevant at this time, but bear with me. These characters will come into play in future stories. You have to start somewhere and the beginning is better than most other places.

* * *

Dawn's rosy fingers found Maurasoon breaking her fast alone. She was awake and dressed before daybreak, as was her custom. The staff was aware of her routines and sent her customary pot of tea in a cozy with some crusty bread and preserves on a tray with her dresser. As Maurasoon was not fussy who was assigned to her, usually the older elves came in to assist her. 

"Would you care to refresh your tea, milady?" Gwinny asked, holding the teapot in anticipation. Lady Mary was pleasant assignment, one Gwinny was happy to accept if she were up early enough. True, she had strange habits, being a foreigner from Gorias, but those habits made life easier for the staff. Usually, the Lady Mary only needed assistance in dressing and perhaps her hair for state occasions.

"Yes, please Gwinn." Maurasoon placed her teacup on the round inlaid tabletop for the elf to pour the tea into. She preferred to take her morning meal in privacy as Jareth and Devlin usually met with Lorgan to review and plan the guards' daily training and assignments.

Devlin and Jareth were nearly as inseparable as they were dissimilar. They were born months apart from each other and were assigned to the same wet nurse after the Queen's death. As young children, the three were devoted to each other. Usually Maurasoon caused most of the mayhem, Jareth obscured the evidence and Devlin supplied a likely alibi. As boys, they took their preliminary studies together; as young men they attended the King's Court together and caused enough mischief and scandal to make Devlin's parents, the Marquess and Marchioness of Rodel, to blush. Had it not been for Devlin, those escapades might have turned into minor skirmishes. It was that quiet solidity that enabled Devlin to be the perfect secretary for Jareth's outlandish and sometimes impulsive monarchy.

As balanced as Jareth and Devlin were in personalities, their appearances were as well. Both men were lithe and lean as were most of the men of the Fairshee, and both were of average height, but that is where the similarities ended. As fair as Jareth appeared with his untamed, moonbeam pale coif, opalescent skin and cerulean eyes, Devlin was dark. Obsidian eyes, nearly pupiless so dark were they, glowered from underneath his upswept brows. His thin hair, the color of jet, was usually pulled back severely to mold against his skull in a low ponytail which reached below the muscular shoulder blades of his strong, erect back. It accentuated his high brow and finely boned facial features which were brought into high relief by his olive complexion.

Their similarities had not gone unnoticed by Lorgan, the Goblin Kingdom's Sergeant-At-Arms. Lorgan knew how the presence of the king could affect the morale of his troops and the troops of the enemy. It was rumored, between both the enemies and the allies of the Goblin King, that he was a ruler of such great power that he was able to be in two locations at the same time, rallying his horde against an increasingly quaking foe. With the help of a blond mare's tail, a high collared battle cloak, a spot of glamour and the good fortune of Aífe, Devlin had taken the place of the king on the battlefield.

Lorgan had no qualms about throwing down his life in the service of the king as a few of his ancestors before him have done for the previous king. To see him at work on the battlefield, one might think there may be troll blood in him; he met his adversaries so single-mindedly and with such ferocity. If it were not for the trace amounts of dwarf and goblin blood, Lorgan may well have been of similar stature as his commander. Yet his cunning and wit were the testament to his Fairshee lineage. Not only did his intellect bear witness, but his general appearance was of the Gentry. Although he lacked the delicate features of most of the Fair Folk, he had the same chiseled structure and pallor. There was no denying Lorgan was a soldier, though. There was not a smooth section on that man, from the way he kept his platinum hair extremely short, past the raw silken clothes that helped to buffer the amour from his exceedingly muscular shoulders and barrel chest as well as kept him warm, down to his calloused hands and seasoned boots that have probably seen more hectares walked than ridden.

Maurasoon smiled at the duality that was Sergeant-At-Arms Lorgan. The devastating warrior and the father who allows his sons to wrestle him to the ground. The brilliant tactician of the Goblin swarm and the patient tutor to his children. Sylvana, Lorgan's wife, lived this duality. He was her strength, her joy and cause for laughter as well as her cause of anxiety and fear.

"_Perhaps I shall visit Sylvana today," _Maurasoon mulled to herself. She missed family life. Sylvana's two boys, now youths in training to follow in their father's footsteps, were a source of amusement for Maurasoon as much as they were a source of aggravation to their mother.

Maurasoon's thoughts grew somber as she thought to her own departed family. Her eldest daughter, Maxine, went on to earn degrees in both law and medicine, yet she never learned how to handle the pressure of such work. Maxine died at the age of 52, in good health, of a massive coronary. Rachel, the youngest of the brood, became a domestic goddess, always fussing and putting her family first. She worked very hard at her interpersonal relationship, to the exclusion of her parents and siblings. It pained her terribly that she wasn't able to conceive her own children, but that did not deter Rachel. She went on to adopt two children from Romania and two from Palestine. Unfortunately, her twin brother did not fair as well. Bobby shifted from one bad marriage to another, always trying to replace the strong women of his family with his wife. The poor women that Bobby would choose were not strong, they were merely overbearing. After his fourth divorce, Bobby slipped into a severe depression, alcoholism and became homeless. Maurasoon used her contacts to help him out of the severest weather and tried to get him into an institution, but he died on the streets from exposure. Tommy was her solid son, a real meat-and-potatoes sort of man. He lived his life as a blue collared worker, married but never had any children. He was devoted to her as well as to his wife. Tommy and Lucille would come regularly to the senior community for a visit after Maurasoon left the family homestead in Rachel's care. Tommy came more often after Lucille's death until his own illnesses overwhelmed him. Luckily, Tommy didn't linger, he died in the hospital two months after being admitted at the age of 97.

"You'll not be riding this morning, milady?"

Gwinny's question started Maurasoon out of her thoughts. She looked down at her attire. "No, Gwinn, I don't think the blue muslin would look good with red dust, do you?"

The elfin maid tittered as she collected the breakfast dishes onto the tray and took her leave.

* * *

The afternoon heat found Maurasoon with the biddies. These were groups of women usually too old or crippled for manual labor who were given the unceasing task of textile fabrication. No matter the time of year, there was work to be done in these rooms. If a pair of legs were unable to move, the eyes and hands provided the capabilities to do fine work such as threading a needle. For those whose eyes could not see, there was wool to be carded, and for those eyes that could no longer see the storm clouds coming from the horizon, there were delicate embroideries for the courtier's vestments. Arms and hands that no longer had the strength to carry and move pots and joints of meat in the kitchen were still strong enough to thread a loom and remove the cloth to roll it into bolts. There were never idle hands amongst the biddies as there was always something needed to be done. From tatting the sheerest lace for the courtesan's nightclothes, to sewing flat seams for a battle tunic, to cutting cloth for the King's new jacket or cape, it was ceaseless activity. 

Along with the flying fingers and darting needles, there were wagging tongues. But it wasn't for the tidbits of gossip Maurasoon came for; she was interested in the loom. This device that elevated societies from nothing more than animal hide wearers was Maurasoon's project. In ancient times, when the High King sheltered the children of Danú from the children of Adam, many crafts were lost simply because the Gentry felt it was beneath them to learn a trade. Once the veils separating the two dimensions were in place, there were precious few who knew the art of cloth making. Only the rudiments of weaving were being practiced. One of her studies Aboveground involved textiles. The young Maurasoon realized the value of this knowledge and studied all she could about the history of textiles throughout her long stay Aboveground. As the Lady Mary, she was able to reintroduce the idea of the tartan to her home.

For that is how Maurasoon is known—Lady Mary. It pleased her that she was able to pay homage to a persona that served her so well as well as maintain her anonymity.

It also allowed her to see her mother. Many an afternoon found Lady Mary seated with the crone, amicably talking quietly amidst the bustle or enjoying companionable silence.

"Milady, what news do you hear of your home?" Looking up from the table linens that she was embroidering, the older woman's gnarled hands slowed as she queried her better.

Maurasoon hoped that her breathing did not betray her rapidly beating heart. Smoothing out the linen under the pretense of inspecting her stitches, Maurasoon responded nonchalantly. "I've not had a response to the letter I sent about two moons ago. The last letter I received from my cousin was written just after Ostara and my sister still deem me unworthy of gracing me with correspondence." The false tale slipped from her lips glibly as if it were truth.

Her mother clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she resumed her needlework. "'Tis a pity that your own kin should treat you as such. At least she knows you to be hale and happy. She should never learn of the pain of not knowing where her kin is."

Maurasoon looked sidelong at her mother. She could see the pain written in the old woman's posture. Her back was bent not so much with age as with dejection, her shoulders hunched forward from introverted sorrow than burden. Too many seasons had past without word of her only family had left her a depressed woman. The shock of learning that her wayward daughter had not only returned but was also a member of the King's Court could very likely be too much strain for the ascetic. Maurasoon hated to lie to her mother, hated to maintain the charade that depressed the matron so, but there was more at stake here than just her mother. It is one thing for the King to bed a scullery maid, but to elevate her to the Court could be disastrous. Jareth was eccentric enough on his own. He did not need a scandal that would rock the existing class system to its very foundations.

And so Maurasoon's day went, day following day, _incedo infinitas. _She did not miss the hectic pace of her previous existence; rather she missed the opportunity to help others reach their potential. At home, she felt as if she were merely marking time for an event to occur. What, she did not know.

* * *

**Author's Note:** My sincerest thanks to BowieChaser, Gin, Helden and Sapphire4Steel for placing me on their story alerts. You've shown me that you have faith in my capabilities to finish this tale. Thank you. 

I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:**That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta-ed by:** Anij

**Summary:** A night in the life; meet the characters

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating: **T

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

**syn:** disavowal

c.1986, 2006 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** I know there is a lot of character development in here that may not seem relevant at this time, but bear with me. These characters will come into play in future stories. You have to start somewhere and the beginning is better than most other places.

* * *

Jareth put down his utensils, lifted the monogrammed linen napkin and dabbed delicately at the corner of his mouth. "I leave for the castle beyond the Goblin City at dawn," he stated as he raised the crystal goblet to his lips. The light from the brightly burning candelabra sparkled in its many facets, reflecting in his eyes and casting amber shadows onto his silken alabaster shirt. It caused his dining companions to believe that the king was drinking liquid fire instead of fine elfin wine.

Devlin and Maurasoon glanced at one another from across the intimate table. They both expected this announcement for some time. Everyone was feeling out of sorts to some degree, those more in tune to the rhythms of the magickal miasma more so than others. Devlin could only imagine the turmoil Jareth would be feeling.

Jareth once tried to explain it to him as a tornado; the very fabric of the magickal atmosphere swirling itself into a vortex, creating a funnel cloud to the realm of Man. It tugged upon his very essence, forcing and directing the king into the vortex to the summoner. Once summoned, he could not return until an appeasement for the magick has been made, usually in the form of a life. As long as Jareth brought a life to the Underground, either in the present or the guarantee of one in the future, he could cross the mist once more. Magick is a harsh mistress, and none knew that better than the Goblin King.

Following suit, Devlin finished his meal. "Should I arrange for the adoption reception as usual?" Always with his mind on the details, Devlin thought there was no time like the present to start.

"Of course."

"The usual guest list?"

Maurasoon placed her goblet down just a tad too forcefully, causing the wine within the cut crystal bowl to careen precariously as she attempted to stifle her choking delicately behind her napkin. Both men looked askance to her, Jareth lifting an upswept eyebrow. She merely forced a smile and brushed off their looks with a wave of the cloth, saying that the wine went down the wrong way. Devlin knew better.

The standard guest list consisted of all the kings of Finias, of which the Goblin Kingdom was a part of, and their courts. This included the Earl of Beinn Mhór, Lord Domnall.

Lord Domnall was a brash man who was a firm believer in wine, women and song. There were many a night when he, Jareth, Lorgan and Domnall would stay up into the wee hours of the morning sampling some the finer vintages of their guest's lands to the south and not be able to appreciate their more subtle textures and bouquets. Devlin knew that his Majesty was more than willing to put his vineyards up against the better vineyards of the Earl's, and Jareth would sing with him until the beasts came back to the pasture. There were even many times that Jareth had allowed him his dalliances, except with one.

On more than one occasion, Devlin would see the two men in jovial conversation, until the King's smile would slide from his face, glance at Maurasoon, then harden to the Earl. His Majesty was very protective of what was his and would not force Maurasoon against her will. Both men felt a sibling kinship with Maurasoon and although she did not need sheltering, each did his share to deflect Domnall's attentions from her. Devlin made a mental note to be extra vigilant to the seating arrangements.

Returning his attention back to Devlin, Jareth drawled, "Yes. It will be good to see Chancellor Áengus again. Affairs at the Court have kept him away for far too long."

"**Chancellor **Áengus? He's been elevated?" Maurasoon, now recovered from her discomfort, asked with mild interest.

"For a few seasons, now." Jareth replied, swirling the ochre colored liquid in the glass before sipping it. "It would do you well to pay attention to the gossip that flies out of the mouths of those biddies."

Dropping her gaze into her lap, her hands busy with the occasion of placing the napkin there, Maurasoon responded demurely. "Oh, the only gossip I hear from them has been forwarded from the laundresses concerning how the Lord Secretary's bed sheets come back in the morning heavily perfumed with a woman's scent." She slyly looked up through her dark lashes to observe the results of her slander.

Having an olive complexion is wonderful protection from the sun's effects on pallid skin. It is also a good shield for pallor flush, which is what Devlin's skin would be showing right at this moment. The dangerous glints in the fathomless abysses that were his eyes revealed his temper. "Dearest Maura, I keep asking you to use less scent before our trysts."

It was Maurasoon's turn to narrow her eyes as she prepared to verbally defend herself against his retaliation. Her retort was cut short as Jareth stood, a graceful column of a man, the image of shades of white interrupted by the black leather vest and dark grey breeches that he wore. Clasping a fraternal hand onto Devlin's shoulder, he ended the argument that was brewing. "You shall give me all the details another time, my friends. I have an appointment with a saddle early tomorrow." He was grateful for his companions. These few people were the only ones with whom he had the opportunity to parry jocular witticisms with. The banter between these two could always divert his mind from the sobriety that seemed to overwhelm him on a daily basis.

They rose to pay their respect to their departing monarch. As soon as Jareth was out of the room and earshot, Maurasoon came around the table, her muslin dress rustling gently with her step, and slipped her hand underneath his jacketed elbow. "Chancellor Áengus? Isn't that a bit extravagant of the High King?" she queried, _sotto voce_.

He accepted her request. "Join me for a game?" He led her out of the private dining room towards the private lounge. In quieter tones, he answered her. "Perhaps. Who am I to second guess the actions of Dogda?"

"Dee!" Irritation colored her voice.

The King's personal wing was a grouping of rooms surrounding a spacious courtyard garden. The garden itself was laid out in a natural setting, using the indigenous wildflowers, bushes and saplings from the surrounding woods and meadows to fill its area. There were a few exotic plants interspersed in the garden, yet they were incorporated as to not draw attention to themselves. Conscientiously placed flowering trees and trellises allowed privacy between the rooms; a wooden staked barrier enclosed the King's private garden from the rest of the courtyard which could only be entered from his chamber. Found in the center of the King's Garden was a small, bubbling fountain that was the property of the naiads that populated it. Pink and white feathery blooms of a mimosa tree that grew along side of the fountain usually graced the surface of the water as they fell from their branches that would sway above it. All the rooms looked out onto the garden, yet the wing itself was sheltered within the fortressed walls of the formal halls of the Summer Pavilion where the King and his Court resided.

Devlin understood her concern even if he didn't share it. The newly appointed Chancellor always had access to the High King's ear. For Maurasoon and Lorgan, who were not versed on the duplicity of Court customs, Áengus seemed a threat; an agent of the High King looking for any weakness within the Goblin Realm. They were not privy to the long discussions he, Jareth and Áengus shared late into the night.

Although all three men disagreed on politics, they were intelligent to realize that they could amicably agree to disagree. The King respected the opinions of the newly appointed Chancellor and used the alternative viewpoint to either find the weaknesses in his own argument in order to strengthen them or to develop counterpoints to possible derision in the event someone should question the decree. For Áengus' part, having an ally outside of the High King's Court could provide very useful in the event of a stalemate argument. The Goblin King's very persuasive tones, both in the threatening and cajoling forms, was a powerful weapon in his arsenal.

As he led her down the subtly lit, polished stone hallway, Devlin mused to himself, _"Now there's a man to admire!"_ Chancellor Áengus' parents were of a lower standing than his own, but an apprenticeship under a baron was enough clout to put him in the lower echelon of the political wheel. Manipulating the market to his baron's favor earned him the notice of the finance minister. It was rumored that the tithe to acquire Áengus from his master allowed the baron to retire and have a more laisssez-faire administration of his lands. Once under the tutelage of the finance minister, Áengus became a quick study in the politics of the High Court.

"What shall we play?"

Devlin hadn't realized that they had reached their destination. He looked down benevolently on Maurasoon's expectant face. The light from the sconces made her brown hair gleam with a richness that it lacked in the sunlight, picking out the reddish gold strands as well as the sparse grey ones. He knew that his own hair was changing, yet he was able to obscure it within his hairstyle. "Anything of your choosing, and I just might let you win!" Yes, the summons must be coming very soon. His mood was beginning to lift.

Maurasoon's generous mouth broke into a mischievous smile. By looking over her shoulder the entire time, she never relinquished her hold on his gaze as she crossed the room and reached for the lute.

* * *

**Author's Note** I've been asked about this and since this will be important in later stories, I thought it best to clarify it here.

In my interpretation of the Universe of the Underground, there are different levels of relationships between men and women. Maurasoon is Jareth's paramour (refer back to A Mother's Perspective, Chapter Four).

A paramour (from the French "with love") is a person, usually a woman, who is a friend to a man, usually, with whom she may or may not be sleeping with. Any children from this union, even if it is a boy, would never be eligible for support from the man; in essence, the child would be a bastard. The male version (where the woman is of higher social standing) would be called a dandy. Now, don't go and tell me that a dandy is nothing more than a man who is too much into his clothes. Yes, he's that, also. My reference is directly from The Scarlet Pimpernel.

A concubine is a woman that is a sexual toy for a man, who is usually married, but not necessarily so. A man could have many concubines at one time, provided that he can support them and their children. Any children from such a union would be able to claim the man as his father. The masculine version is a concubinus.

A mistress is similar to a concubine, except she would have a better social standing. Usually, a man would only have one mistress at a time. The only places in literature where I've encounter a male version is the film version of Breakfast at Tiffany's and the Broadway production of Sunset Boulevard. Both of those male characters were kept men.

A consort could be a man or a woman (an unmarried woman of society could have a consort or a male escort to whom she is not married to) to whom the person who is supporting the consort is not married (but could be, in some instances. A spouse could be called a consort) to but holds the consort in high regard. A consort could produce an heir to the throne, provided that the wife did not have a male child, but could never be a regent themselves.

A wife, well we know that one, don't we? The wife is the top of the hierarchy; any children from the marriage would supersede the other relationships, except by gender. For example, a younger boy from a mistress would be heir before an older daughter from the wife, but only second in line if there is an older boy from a concubine. The difference between a married consort and a spouse is one of diplomacy. You might need to marry someone due to politics, but your consort is your heart's desire.

I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** That's What Friends Are For

**Author: **Yodeladyhoo

**Summary:** The summons

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

1. (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

2. denial of any connection with or knowledge of

syn: disavowal

c.1986, 2006 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** Only two more chapters to the movie. It was going to be only one more, but I had to break this chapter up into two.

* * *

The Summer Pavilion was home to many species of creatures in an assortment of social strata. It wasn't unusual to see either a goblin strutting around in Court finery as it would be to see a Bean-Tighe doing scullery work. So, it wasn't an unusual sight to see a goblin maid crossing through the courtyard carrying a small, tightly rolled parchment in her claws. It was the gait that was unusual.

Goblins are simple creatures. Most are only concerned to their immediate needs and are not predisposed to long range planning. For most, when their next meal was going to occur was considered long range enough. The where and how to procure such a meal was not a consideration in the planning. Lin and her brother, Gob, were not like most. Somehow along the way, these two managed to master the ability follow simple commands. Lin was most proud of her brother for the honour he held in being a foot soldier in the Goblin Guard. Perhaps, one day, he will advance to be a member of the mounted guard. Oh, the way their maw would cluck over him then, much in the same manner as she clucked over Lin being tapped by the King's HouseKeeper to go and serve in the Summer Pavilion. She had the opportunity to live in the mountains and be protected from her distantly related cousins, the ever-warring mountain goblins, had not only one very nice work shift, but _two,_ and never had to worry about when, where or how to get her next meal. All she had to do was what she was told to do and to mind her manners. That was the hard part, since there were so many manners to mind and goblins didn't have that much of a mind. It wasn't too hard on her since the HouseKeeper was quick to remind her of them with a switch.

So, when the BeastKeeper told her to deliver a scroll to the Lady Mary and to "be right quick about it!" she most definitely was. Moving forward only on her right side, she needed to transverse most of the circular courtyard to arrive at the womans work quarters. The quickest way possible was for her to run along using the three limbs that were not carrying her precious cargo. Unfortunately, the shift she was wearing was not meant to be worn while scurrying, crablike, in a hastened fashion. The skirt would trip the long-limbed goblin to the point that, in the hopes of increased speed, Lin hitched her skirt up and tied it around her neck to give her nimbly jointed limbs an unhindered range of motion.

_"Finds the Lady Mary. Finds the Lady Mary. Finds the Lady Mary. Oh, pretty flower! Does it smell nice? Oy! I needs ta finds the Lady Mary! No time for pretty flowers! Now, what...oh. Finds the Lady Mary..." _

Presently, Lin found herself at the threshold of the womans work quarters. Had she not been a goblin with a goblin's hide, she might have appreciated the cool entryway as she passed into the sheltering shadow of the portal. She scrabbled up the stairs before she corrected herself to walk on two, instead of three, limbs. It wouldn't do for the HouseKeeper to find out that she had forgotten how to walk amongst others. Her maw would be so proud of her for remembering!

Upon reaching the upper storey of the building, Lin looked into the space, muttering to remind herself of the mission. If she were not so intent on her mantra, she might have been awed by the airiness of it. The womans working quarters was three storeys tall with a cellar for root storage. The ground level was mostly sleeping quarters for the women who could negotiate the stairs. The second level was a large, circular open gallery with triple rows of windows, the floor of the second storey being the main workspace for the women where they sat and sewed. A small area was curtained as to provide privacy for sleeping quarters and such. Above the second set of windows, accessible by a curving stairway that followed the wall and by two doorways set on opposite sides of tower that led to the outer battlements, was a stone platform that encircled the entire room. It appeared to float in the air, but on closer inspection, one could see that this platform was supported by the barrel arches that upheld the pale grey and tan walls. It was on this platform where the looms were located as well as the cutting tables and some spinning and warping wheels. Above this work platform was the last set of windows. At this time of the afternoon, both the exterior metal and the interior wood shutters were thrown open to the light that was spilling in from the windows, creating large blocks of illuminated rectangles across the walls and floor as well as glancing off of the iridescent wings of the woodland pixies flitting high above the heads of the seamstresses as they collected the floating dust motes and cotton lint.

An aged gnome, her features as twisted and as lined as a gnarled tree knot, approached the young goblin, "State yer business!" She spat out a wad of chew into a brass spittoon to punctuate her command.

"Mary finds the Lady. Uh...I means, finds the Lady Mary. No, I means..." Lin sputtered nervously with her young, raspy voice.

"I knows what yer means!" the ancient one nearly shouted in gravely tones, eyeing the scroll. Snatching it out from the cowering goblin's claws, she shooed the frightened creature not too kindly out onto the landing with a shouted admonishment about the state of her skirts and turned to complete the mission herself. With a gait reminiscent of a sailor's roll with a hobble, the elderly female located the recipient in her usual seat with her usual companion. "For ye, milady. Just gots here," she announced with a sniffle. Maurasoon accepted the scroll graciously and the old woman hobbled/sauntered to her place by the door and the spittoon.

Maurasoon's elderly companion quickly lifted her gaze from her embroidery, curious about the contents of the scroll, yet knowing better than to ask directly due to her station.

Making a noncommittal sound as she scanned the neat yet cramped cursive, Maurasoon read the note. She knew full well that this incident would be carried throughout the castle before the evening meal was served. Putting aside the bandage wrap that she was working on, she decided to nip any rumours in the bud now, "Nothing of great importance," Maurasoon started as she rose from the bench where she was seated and smiled. "Just something I need to see the BeastKeeper about Shieba."

With that said, Maurasoon moved across the expanse of the great room towards the stairs unhurriedly. She descended to the ground level and made her way to the aviary, where she knew the Keeper would be at this time of day, attending to the flocks of homing pigeons that the castle maintained.

Crossing the distance of roughly fifty yards from the womans work quarters to the aviary tower, Maurasoon quickly assessed what she needed to accomplish before acting on the demands of the letter. The correspondence was from Jareth, who left to attend to duties at the castle beyond the Goblin City yesterday. Unbeknownst to her, her brow was furrowed in puzzlement as to why he would summon her there. She also knew that her puzzlement would remain an enigma as it was not her place to question his motives. He asked, she responded. It did not matter that she could barely tolerate the citizenry of that place; she was barely able to mask her revulsion towards the goblins in residence here. Although she loved Jareth as a man/brother/friend/king, it still rankled her that she was forced to do what she would not instinctually do in any given situation when ordered by him. She did not have time to ponder long as she quickly crossed the courtyard to have words with Garison, the BeastKeeper.

Entering the aviary from the afternoon sun, Maurasoon was overwhelmed by the stench of bird and bird droppings. This aviary was kept for the carrier pigeons that were needed for message transportation. The aiery for the hawks and falcons was more to the rear of the Pavilion complex, closer to the forest where the king and his retinue would go and take the birds and the dogs out hunting. Calling out his name in an effort to be heard over the doves, she was mindful not to slip on the guano that caked the floor. Presently, she saw the dwarf's face, overwhelmed by his mop of white hair that his skullcap could not contain, peering from underneath a railing high above her. "I'll be downs in a moment, milady!" With a jangle from the ornaments attached to his belt, the dwarf plodded down the curving stairs.

Mopping his face with a dirty rag, Garison inquired, "An' how may I be of service to you t'day, milady?"

"Garison, I have need to ride out this afternoon to the castle beyond the Goblin City. Would Shieba be up to it?"

"Wells, now, you took Shieba outs yesterday morn and I feds her at midday yesterdays, so I reckon she'd not be ready to go 'til th' day after next."

Maurasoon scowled. "This is on orders from the King, Garison. I ride this afternoon, within the hour, if possible. Who is available?"

Scratching his skullcap, which didn't move under the ministrations so tightly it was fitted to his head, the BeastKeeper pondered. "Lorno is readys. Not very trained, but he'll do for you."

"Do you feel that I can handle him?"

"He's a mite bit younger than Shieba, so that'll make it easier on you, milady. You'll need to steer him, he'll not know his way yet." Rubbing his cheeks with the sullied cloth again, Garison contemplated, " Th' castle beyond the Goblin City, you said, eh? Jes' keep the aft'rnoon sun over your left shoulder and th' Labyrinth will show you th' way, in times. "

"Fine," Maurasoon stated with authority, "have him bridled and saddled with a pack within the hour."

"By your leave, milady. You'll find his fork in th' usual box. He'll be a F major."

Maurasoon left as quickly as being cautious would allow her. On her way to her rooms, she stopped in the kitchens to request that a basket with two meals for two people be delivered to the BeastKeeper for transport to the King. Jareth would appreciate a good meal in that place. Cruet winked at her and promised to slip in a pack of her preferred tea as well. Maurasoon wondered if her secret was still safe with someone like Cruet. She did spend most of her time as a child in the kitchens and brownies could have long memories...Spying Gwinny, Maurasoon asked the elfin woman to accompany her to her rooms to assist in dressing.

Being the paramour of an eccentric king did have its benefits. No one dared to question her tastes in fashion and style. She refused to ride side-saddle, so she designed her riding habit herself. Working her arms and hips out of her dress, Gwinny silently loosened her corset and re-laced it for more ease of movement that would be needed for the exercise. Slipping on the cream colored silk blouse, which complemented her dark eyes and hair, a few strands of which escaped from the loose chignon she styled it into, she then tucked it into the waistband of her riding skort. This was probably the most unusual garment Gwinny had ever seen. They were worn much like a man's pair of jodhpurs yet, to look at them, one would not see the soft, bark-brown suede for sewn onto the waistband of the pants were panels of an overskirt. The panels were of a well woven burgundy gabardine that was attached to the jodhpurs in overlaying panels that would allow for complete freedom of leg movement. When standing, the skirt looked like the elytra of a beetle, with its wings folded neatly on its back. Yet, these overlays were completely independent which allowed Maurasoon to walk without shortening her stride and allowed her to sit in the saddle properly without the skirt bunching up underneath her.

Over the silk blouse, Maurasoon put on a waistcoat of the royal colors of burgundy and midnight blue. Slipping her feet into the knee high boots, she winced when she realized that she had neglected to have them cleaned and oiled after her last ride the other day. After lacing up the boots, Gwinny held her short leather overcoat out for her to slip into. "Thank you so much for you assistance, Gwinn" Maurasoon said with a sincere smile as she accepted the gloves and riding hat from her dresser. With a practiced move in her dressing mirror, Maurasoon quickly secured the hat over her hair, slipped the supple gloves over her hands and fastened the belt on her jacket as she glided out the door.

The mid-afternoon sun was nearly excessively warm on Maurasoon's leather clad shoulders. Behind her were the sounds and mayhem of everyday life in the residence; soldiers training, animals vocalizing, children playing. Maurasoon thought to stop and chat a while with some of the little ones, but she was pressed for time. She only hoped that she would make it to her destination before nightfall. She would not want to be on an animal for its maiden ride with her in the night when neither one was absolutely certain where their destination would be. Reaching the portcullis set in the outer wall, she opened a modest wooden box that was mounted there. Inside was an assortment of perfectly pitched musical tuning forks. She found the desired one and left the secured grounds of the Summer Pavilion.

Shielding her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun, Maurasoon spotted Shieba asleep in the mountain meadow. The animal stood out like a massive reflective hillock in the midst of the yellow, purple and sparse whites of the mountain flowers as she basked in the hot, late afternoon sun. Flatfooting her way down the sloping fields, Maurasoon made her way over to the sated beast. Maybe it was for the best that she started getting used to Lorno; Shieba, she could tell, was ready to move on to her next level of training for warcraft.

"Hey, girl." Maurasoon crooned as she rubbed behind one of the great beast's eye ridge, staying well back from her mouth. The behemoth's only sign of recognition was a cracked eyelid. Maurasoon could see that she was hardly awake as the nictitating membrane which covered her bowl-like eye didn't even draw back to clear her vision. _"Let her rest"_, she thought to herself. Larger animals with longer life spans have slower metabolisms and need time to digest their proteins, especially when the protein came in the form a half of a beast of burden. Shieba had also been chewing rocks, as evidenced by the gravel under her chin. Goodness only knows which types. "When I get back, I'll talk to Lorgan about getting you a nice flyer to take you out, okay?" The only response was a low gurgle about three feet behind Maurasoon which originated in Shieba's throat.

Maurasoon stepped away from Shieba and shouted to the wind, "Lorno!". Striking the tuning fork against the metal buckle of her jacket, she held it high. The resonating pitch not only vibrated the air molecules to a perfect tone of F major, but Maurasoon could feel the resonance oscillating into her palm and through her bones. As she both felt and heard the resonating tone die down, she stuck the tuning fork again and repeated, "Lorno, come!"

Shieba barely twitched an ear. Presently there was a block of air forcing itself down over Maurasoon. She looked up to see the dragon descending in slow, tightening circles.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sincerest thanks to Chamaelirium for allowing me to borrow Cruet. 

I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta:** Anij

**Summary:** The journey

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

syn: disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** Yeah! Last chapter before we get to the movie! It's not plagiarism if I give credit. Passages in bold are lifted directly from Labyrinth—a novel based on the Jim Henson film, written by A.C.H. Smith, and published by Henry Hold & Company in New York.

* * *

Adult dragons are impossible to train. They are intelligent, highly strung, territorial, vicious, flame emitting creatures that would as quickly kill their mate for a meal as an errant beast. It was a wonder that there were any left in the wild for their tendencies, if it wasn't for the commercial efforts of the giants. 

Dragons live in the wastelands of the far north, more north than Moraine, where the rainfall is too scarce to support lush flora. Therefore, the fauna have adapted digestive systems than allow them to go for long expanses of time before eating again. Giants, who also live in the northern regions of Finias, have utilized the great beasts' propensity to rest after eating to afford them the opportunity to steal the dragon's eggs from their nests. These eggs fetch an exorbitant sum of gold and allow the giants to participate in the free trade of the land.

The usual purveyors of these eggs were kings and dukes as they were the only ones who had enough land, money and staff to train a dragon properly through its maturation phases. In the Goblin Kingdom, the mounted unit of the Goblin Guard was in charge of the eggs and the hatchlings. The wee creatures had an appearance that one needed to accustom themselves to in order to be capable to see their latent beauty. Standing upright to an approximate height of four feet on its muscular two hind legs and using its long tail as a counterbalance, it is almost impossible to believe that these are the offspring of the terror of the northern skies of Finias. Their dark orange corneas, bordering on blood orange, bulge from their faces, nearly overwhelming their skulls. Tufts of hair sprout from between their immature horns and down the neck ridge, offering the mounted goblin a means to guide the newly hatched dragon, as its beak is too small to accept a bridle. Although they are fierce creatures that are nearly invincible, the first few hours after emerging from their shell are when they are the most vulnerable in their entire lives as their moist skin is very easy to pierce while it hardens in the drying atmosphere. After hatching and consuming their first meal, training begins immediately.

Dragons have extraordinary long distance hearing, but only in a limited frequency. Each dragon's audio range is individualistic. Males tend to be in the whole note ranges while females are in the flats. As the newly hatched dragons are led to the feeding grounds, goblins would strike different keys of tuning forks and observe the dragons to see which beasts they were attracted to in the different stalls as they were drawn to the scent of the meat and the sound of the tone. Once sorted, training the dragons to respond to fork and voice progressed very quickly. Within two months, the dragon babes are ready to be mounted and placed on patrol within the walls of the Goblin City.

During this first phase of life, the hatchling phase, the dragons are wingless. They are placed on mounted duty until their wing buds sprout, somewhere around their fortieth year of life. At this time, the hatchlings are rounded up and proceed by caravan to the open fields of the King's usual residence, the Summer Pavilion. The next thirty years are a very intensive growth phase in which the dragons could quadruple their weight and increase their body length by six times. While they are under the watchful eye of BeastKeeper Garison, they practice their flying skills in the hilly terrain and are given plenty of opportunities to learn where the landmarks of the Kingdom are with riders guiding them. It would take about three round trip flights for a dragon to memorize the flight path to any given point from that particular starting point. Once memorized, a rider would simply need to mount their beast, strike the properly pitched tuning fork and state the destination within the tone of the tuning fork. The animal would then grasp the rider's legs in its front digits, gather its powerful hindquarters beneath it and with a mighty down stroke of its scaled wings, the behemoth would leap into the air with a screech from its parrot like beak of triumph and warning.

Once the dragons start to chew rocks, their life of leisure was at an end. They are now entering the period of their life that they have been training for; warfare. A squadron formation of five dragons descending onto a battlefield could strike terror in the fiercest of trolls, who would fight simply because they had nothing better to do, but when they had a cause or an employer, they could be the most deadly of adversaries. Mounted on the back of a dragon, a warrior has almost no chance of injury or failure of their mission. Once dismounted, the dragon would defend its rider in the face of any threat to either itself or of their rider. Dragons at this stage are very loyal creatures and develop a deep attachment to their rider. Unfortunately, a dragon's usefulness is limited for at this point they are nearly matured. Once the rider can no longer control his mount from chewing rocks on command, it is time to release the animal back to the northern mountain habitat of its origins.

Dragon and rider take their final flight to the north with provisions for two days. The animal is forced to fly hungry as to encourage it to forage on its own when they reach their destination. Upon dismount and unharnessing his beast, the rider must drive away his companion. Using a discordant tone tuning fork, the warrior would speak the dragon's name. The distress of hearing its' name in the key of the painful tone drives the dragon in fury away from its rider, hopefully never to be seen by intelligent beings again. The rider now has to make his way down the mountain, carrying approximately fifty pounds of leather harness and saddle while avoiding dragons to await another mounted rider to pick him up. Many times, a rider is found. Most that do return unscathed would never fly again.

None of this affected Maurasoon as she watched the graceful creature circle overhead. Little did she realize that she was an unwitting instrument in Garison's orchestrations for training the beast. Then again, if the BeastKeeper were truly aware of Maurasoon's inexperience with riding, he might have other thoughts about assigning such a green dragon to her.

Once she was assured that her ride was properly outfitted for the journey, she mounted him by climbing up onto his outstretched ankle. Hoisting herself into the saddle, she grabbed onto the thickly braided reins as Lorno shook his leathery neck and pulled on the lead in defiance. "Oh, so you think you're a feisty one now, do you?" Maurasoon said to him as he tugged on her hold. "Very well. If you're in such a hurry," she struck the tuning fork against the brass saddle horn and spoke clearly within the tone, "Goblin City!"

With a small preliminary skip, the dragon leaped into the air, his neck muscles straining in his ascent towards the clouds. Overcoming her initial inertia to becoming airborne, Maurasoon quickly gained control over the beast's head, swung him around to position the afternoon sun over her left shoulder.

Riding a dragon requires very little in the way of steerage. Dragons have an inborn ability to maintain a straight line course once set upon it. Having established the northern trajectory by using the sun as a compass, Maurasoon had little to do except watch the scenery unfold beneath her. The green mountainside that was dotted with tiny yellow and purple flowers gave way to pale gold and deep green farmland. Wondering what farm life could be like, she realized that she probably would know firsthand right now if she had not embarked on her little 'adventure'. It was common practice for impoverished farmers to come to the castle looking for brides for their sons who had little land to offer. In return, girls who had little chance at marriage because they were dowerless were offered a chance at matrimony. Not that they had any voice in the choice of their husband, but they were granted a husband all the same. Of course, Maurasoon did not know this tidbit when she was a mere lass; all she knew was the drudgery of scullery work and the aloofness of Court. Hating both, she opted to run away as far as possible as she could. She ran so far, she managed to cross the mist between the dimensions of two worlds.

There, she found a life for herself that allowed her to remain as wild and as free as a child. She grew, fell in love, and had purpose to her existence full of joy and misgivings. It was the outcome of one night of misgivings that led her back to a life that she originally distained. She made a wish, had it granted, and in retribution, had to return at the request of her childhood friend, now the Goblin King. Granted, she was quickly coming to a loss as to how to explain her longevity on the other side of the Veil, but she truly was afraid to return home. She longed for the familiar sights and landscapes, yet she dreaded the existence that would be awaiting her. Realizing that she was now more of an outcast that when she left, Maurasoon wondered what she would be able to do to eek out a livelihood. Yet, her time in the realm of Man had given her the confidence that she needed to know that she could manage no matter what the obstacles. The only thing that plagued her mind now was if she would be facing those obstacles alone.

Her human mate, Gary Elbridge, had passed shortly after Maxine's death. The loss of her beloveds from the early years of her marriage devastated Maurasoon, but as sure as time mellows all wounds, she was now able to think back upon her love with bittersweet fondness instead of soul wrenching grief. Oftentimes, she wondered if she would encounter Gary's essence again in her own lifetime or if he had moved on to the next level by using po-wa. She enjoyed the company of men, but missed the comfort of someone who understood her soul. Gary was able to take so much in his long, loping stride and easy smile that there were times that Maurasoon also felt compelled to tell him her true history. Fear held her tongue, though. There was no harm done and it helped to keep the peace, something Gary expounded in their life as one.

Lorno perked his head up from his flying with her increased tension on the reins. Centering herself on the present instead of the past or the future, Maurasoon relaxed her grip and leaned forward over the neck of the dragon. It was going to be a fair distance until their journey was at an end. No need to give the beast reason to be on alert.

Her return to the Underground was as jolting as her entrance to Above. Upon reciting her summons for the Goblin Prince--nothing happened. Perplexed, she wondered if she had said something wrong. After two days of racking her memory, the glamourized Maurasoon remembered the transportation incantation, recited it, and found herself amidst stone walls in an alley once again. Except this time, the sky was a familiar pale orange hue. In due time, Jareth, the newly crowned King of the Goblins, found her wandering within the stone garden of the Labyrinth. It was his idea to create the persona of the Court Lady of Gorias.

So began the education of Mary of Gorias. For three seasons Maurasoon stayed on at the castle beyond the Goblin City learning courtly mannerisms, Gorian history, Finisian history, and diction. Her most dreaded master was a wizened goblin who had a habit of rambling incessantly about a mote side point then falling asleep mid-sentence. It wasn't so much her teacher that she despised, rather his companion bird/hat. On more than one occasion Maurasoon threatened to scald the feathers off of it and throw it into the soup pot. Once the bird-like creature realized her bluff, the taunts only served to spur it on to more raucous behaviour. If she were by chance to come across her old instructor and his headpiece...

The deepening colour of the sky as the evening lengthened into night brought Maurasoon into the present. Taking in her surroundings, Maurasoon looked down over the dragon's thick neck to spy on a vast, unnatural structure that sprawled out underneath her. It covered the entire landscape and almost crested over the horizon for its immensity. The Labyrinth. As the sky took on shades of violet and azure, the brick walls took on a milky, pearlescent aura in the moonless night, very much like the full moon during an eclipse. Casting her gaze further out, she was able to discern a spire structure rising far to her left. The castle beyond the Goblin City; the seat of power of the Goblin Realm. Although the king and his Court resided at the Summer Pavilion permanently, all formal functions and decrees were compelled to be issued from here. Locking her right leg around the saddle girth, Maurasoon took both reins firmly as she prepared to turn Lorno. She lunged over his left shoulder, pulling firmly and steadily on the reins. The actions very nearly unseated her, if it were not for her precautions with her leg and her grip on the reins. The great beast felt the pull on his bridle and responded accordingly, tucking in his left wing to cause a gently banking to the west in the darkening sky.With any luck, she would arrive there before Jareth took his brandy.

* * *

Jareth was waiting outside in the courtyard plaza in front of the main, ornamental doors of the castle, scowling at the lack of activity. He had been here for approximately nineteen hours now and was appalled at the condition of the capital city. Granted, it was no worse than when he had last seen it, but it was no better, either_. What were the taxes being used towards_, he thought to himself. If Jareth were to have paid closer attention to details during his last visit, he would have noted that there were only three ale houses in the Goblin City. Now, there were fifteen. Quite an industrious task to set up the stills and distilleries to support such a booming business, or so the mayor of the city believed. 

The focal point of the plaza was a square stone fountain with base relief carvings on its squat, tiered levels. Stone staircases emptied into the plaza from elevated walkways connecting some of the second storied buildings. Water gurgled from the some of the carvings into the basin of the fountain as he leaned gracefully against it, but its melody was lost on his ears as he tipped his head back to view the vaulted sky. He could almost make out the intangible threads of the magickal atmosphere that were starting to coil their nearly invisible, silvery filaments in the royal blue night sky lending a sense of depth to the two dimensional expanse. Soon now, very soon, the summons would be made and all this anxiety would be over.

The palace guard had warned him of a dragon approaching, and this was the most likely place for it to land. The finial tipped turrets were fine roosting sites for griffins, gargoyles and the occasional owl, but dragons needed space to land all four limbs and a weary tail. Judging from its arriving flight pattern, this dragon couldn't be a wild specimen hunting a bit too far south. He pushed himself away from the fountain with practiced ease that belied his current impatient temperament as the beast circled in to slow its speed.

Goblins rushed in to unburden the dragon after the King assisted the lady off of her mount. "The night air suits you, my dear. You should ride in the evening more often," he said as a means of greeting Maurasoon. Leading her away from the plaza and up the steps, he guided her around the side of the castle, underneath the buttresses that held up the impossibly spiraling towers to a garden.

"What, and deny you and Devlin the pleasure of my company at dinner?" She jokingly teased as she skirted the stone bench that Jareth was leading her to and strolled to the flowering hedges. The lavender, pink, and white open faced blooms looked enticing, yet she could see the gleam of the razor-edge on the petals that would slice through an unwary finger.

"I suppose I am denying him your company tonight as well."

She waved her hand dismissively as she recalled the unpleasantness of the past evening. "He's too busy planning the banquet to be of good company."

"I fear that I won't be of much company either." he said with his hands clasped behind his back. Maurasoon tilted her head, her eyes filled with questions she would not dare to ask.

"Be that as it may, I am here. I suppose you don't need to be of good company since it is I who would need to be of good company to you."

"And if I choose to have no company at all?"

"Then I had a lovely flight that you assure me suits me very well."

If the expression is 'misery loves company', then Maurasoon was refusing to pay a social call. Jareth was quickly losing his temper at being unable to bait her. "Must you always find a way to have a positive effect on every situation? It is very annoying."

Sensing that her companion was not in the best of spirits, Maurasoon proceeded with caution as she neared him. "Old habits die hard, my Liege. Please pardon me for falling into the role I held while I was a younger woman."

"I suppose that's the reason why I summoned you here," he countered irritably as she halted alongside of him. He allowed his pent up frustration from the past day and a half to channel out through his temper towards her.

She looked up at him, revelations adorning her face. "You want me to attempt to evaluate you?"

Jareth straddled the once empty bench and folded his arms across his chest, his expression daring her to succeed in her endeavor. The night only deepened, along with the silence between the two.

Taking a deep breath, Maurasoon took a stab in the dark. "You're restless. In truth, you probably don't know what it is that you need to seek, yet you know you need it. I only hope that once you find it, you recognize it for what it is that you need."

"And do you have any suggestion on what it is that I need?"

_Someone with your temperament to give it back to you as often as you dish it out,_ was the first thing that came to Maurasoon's mind. Thankfully, she knew better to let it get past her brain.

The words left Jareth's mouth as if they were thrown by his voice like daggers. "What? No insightful comments as to whether I need time to ponder or time to talk? Come, come, Maura! I treasure your bits of witticisms." At this, Jareth rose from the bench and stalked around her, his ill humour radiating from him almost visibly.

The air within her mouth was still with her silence at her inability to answer him. Her eyes followed his movements around her under shielding lids. Things had gone from bad to worse and it wasn't looking to get any better very soon along this path. "My sincerest pardons for rousing your ire, my Lord. I meant no offense in my old habits." Trying to find a way to end this confrontation, she started to grasp at straws. "You said that the night air suits me. Perhaps it could work its magic on you."

"What, and deny you the pleasure of my company?" Jareth retorted with malicious humour dancing in his eyes.

Exasperated and exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Maurasoon repressed a sigh. "Sire, it has been a long ride and I am tired. Please allow me to retire to my rooms."

"As you will." He turned and strode away from her.

"Shake a tail feather!"

Jareth pivoted, his face on the verge of fury which was impending to erupt into a vile threat were it not for the sight of Maurasoon, the panels of her overskirt spread wide as she curtsied deeply.

"Your Majesty."

Realizing that he had almost taken her bait, Jareth found his upper lip turn ever so imperceptibly into a small smirk of a smile. "Maura, I do believe that I shall never grow tired of your ability to cause me aggravation."

Maurasoon felt the surrounding air rush forward to fill the space that Jareth's mass left vacant as he shifted into his more compact avian form. Only then did she dare to rise and look to the skies before heading into the castle. From somewhere deep in the recesses of her long memory, she recalled the words of an old college mate, dead these many years, or was it centuries? (She never could keep track of time, one of the drawbacks of living in two realms for so long.) _Men...you can't live with them and you can't bury them in a shallow grave without ruining your manicure_.

Entering the castle proper, she walked through the labyrinthine halls and stairwells to what were once her suite of rooms. All she really wanted right now was a long, very warm soak in a bath laced with sweet salts and a soft bed for her tender muscles to rest upon. After all, tomorrow was going to be another day.

* * *

Jareth took to the air with a stride and a down stroke. With having too much to occupy his thoughts, he made a conscious effort to think of nothing at all. Allowing the thermals emanating from the ground to lift him higher into the night sky, his avian sight beheld the Labyrinth; ever complex, never solvable. It was many things to different persons. For him, it was the symbol of his strength and complexity; which led him to thinking of his last conversation. 

How dare she assume to tell him what he needed?! In truth, she didn't tell him what he needed; only that he had a need. What in the universe could a king, let alone the Goblin King, need? He had never known want, every desire had always been met. Yet, she was right about the obvious; he was restless, more so than with the impending summons. Perhaps there was something missing from his life; he shall have to investigate this further after this ordeal was taken care of.

Perhaps he was a bit too harsh on Maurasoon earlier. He did, after all, summon her here for her companionship. If she acted as she always had, how can he blame her for his ire? You can not ask a snake to shed his personality like he does his skin. He will have to make it up to her, somehow, perhaps a trinket or such.

He had no sense of guilt. To admit guilt would be to admit uncertainty, something a monarch must never allow to be perceived least he would appear indecisive. In much the same manner, he would never let Maurasoon have the benefit of the knowledge that she might be correct. It was one thing to seek her advice but quite another to let her have the satisfaction of knowing that her advice was being taken. It might swell her ego, or so Jareth thought. _What good would any advice be from her then, _he mused as he banked into the current. This was one of the many reasons why he cherished Maurasoon; she spoke her mind with forethought and a clear conscious. She was not a woman who would speak without thinking or to further her own cause.

Jareth never noticed when the thermals were no longer lifting him and when the vortex was pulling him into the World of Man.

**Nobody saw the owl, white in the moonlight, black against the stars, nobody heard him as he glided over on silent wings of velvet. The owl saw and heard everything. **

**He settled **atop a stone needle monolith that rose to the clouds that caressed the ground**, his claws **unable to hook onto anything as he resettled his wings, the feathers ruffling in the gusts of wind**, and he stared at the girl in the glade below. The wind moaned, rocking the **branches in the surrounding trees**, scudding low clouds across the evening sky. It lifted the hair of the girl. The owl was watching her, with his round, dark eyes. **

**The girl moved slowly from the trees toward the middle of the glade. **A pond that mirrored the dull metallic sky lay placid behind her**. She was concentrating. Each deliberate step took her nearer to her purpose. Her hands were open, and held slightly in front of her. The wind sighed again in the trees. It blew her **dress** tightly against her slender figure, and rustled her hair around her wide-eyed face. Her lips were parted. **

**"Give me the child."**

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you. 

NOTE: PO-WA: Tibetan method of meditation to allow the transference of consciousness at the time of death


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta:** Anij

**Summary:** Good Morning, Master Tobias

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings: **Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

syn: disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** Hey, there's art with this story! Please go to my profile page to find the link. It is under the Completed Works banner, underneath the title of this story. It's not plagiarism if I give credit. Passages in bold are lifted directly from Labyrinth—a novel based on the Jim Henson film, written by A.C.H. Smith, and published by Henry Hold & Company in New York.

* * *

Maurasoon awoke that morning refreshed. Long rides in the evening made for good nights of sleeping. After making her toilette and dressing, she was surprised to find herself breaking her fast alone. She left the dining hall to wander through her old haunts in the castle. 

The castle, although rarely used by either the populace or the King, was small and bright. Large windows with their metal shutters thrown open to the brilliant morning illuminated the high vaulted ceilings, reminding her of the cathedrals in France that she once visited with her family so long ago. She walked slowly through the passages, admiring the different views of the Labyrinth from her vantage point within the castle on higher ground. At times she would pause, seemingly deep in thought, as she attempted to solve the Labyrinth visually. Many times she would lose her visual thread in the myriad of turns, switchbacks and dead-ends. Maurasoon shook her head in amazement at the complexity of the structure and pitied any challenger who was so desperate to attempt to complete it.

As she progressed through the castle, she noticed that there were more goblins present than she remembered. During her last visit here so long ago, she was virtually a solitary resident, devoted to study and assimilation. There was the skeleton staff of goblins, brownies, and elves necessary for the function of the building, but there was an absence of sound and activity at that time. Now, there were quite a few goblins in armor in what seemed to be industrious activities and, to her dismay, livestock in some of the sitting and music rooms. Allowing her feet to be directed by her ears and her memory, Maurasoon found herself descending stairwells and turning corners as she followed the sounds of what seemed like a large, boisterous gathering. Presently, she found herself in the Throne Room, gaining access there by one of the servants' entrances. Upon entry, she was appalled by what was within.

In the rear of the room, on his throne, reclined Jareth. Lounging sideways in the generous seat with a leg thrown over the curving armrest that formed around to the back, his face was pinched in frustration. He was apparently trying to block out the mayhem that was surrounding him and was failing miserably. It seemed as if the whole of the Goblin Palace Guard were housed there. From the debris and filth, it would seem that the Throne Room also doubled as the barracks for the guards. No wonder Jareth met her in the courtyard yesterday!

At the center of it all stood a child, no more than 18 months old, wearing red-and-white striped coveralls, with his mouth wide open and howling. Little fists were clenched tight; eyes screwed shut, his tear-streaked face scarlet with the effort. The babe was in a depression cut in the middle of the floor filled with goblins and livestock. It had managed to pull itself up to a standing position and was now working up for a good cry.

Forgetting about his admonishment from last night, Maurasoon took a deep breath as she composed her face into a cheerful expression. She had her work cut out for her. "A pleasant morning, Sire! You seem prepared for a ride this morning." She needed to raise her voice slightly to be heard over the constant background cacophony of goblin soldiers at rest, sleeping, eating, drinking, and gambling.

Jareth looked up at her, his face weary from constant distraction. "As I hope to do once this challenger relinquishes her ordeal. She's a little less than three and a half hours into the Labyrinth."

Picking her way through the throngs of bodies to the central depression, she crouched down to gain a better vantage of the child. "And, would this be the prize?" She opened her arms in a universal sign of acceptance to the petulant tyke. The soon-to-be toddler indicated a desire to be picked up; Maurasoon obliged.

"That would be the Master Tobias," Jareth said as he descended the dais to stand next to the pair. She was in parental mode now, holding the boy up over her head by his waist, smiling at the child while modulating the pitch of her voice. Toby, unsure of this adult, stopped his keening until he could figure out who this lady was to him.

"And why is the Master Tobias crying?" Maurasoon asked, using the 'Mommy' voice.

Jareth sighed. "If I knew, Maura, I would rectify it. I've tried a human wet nurse and an udder of donkey's milk to no avail," he leaned in to tickle Toby's neck. The baby quickly turned to find the source of this new stimulus.

Instinctively feeling the child's rump, "have you had his underclothes changed?"

"Maura," he sounded rather irritated, "don't use that tone of voice with me."

Maurasoon raised Toby over her head again. "Oh hush, Jay. I've only just lightened his mood." True to the statement, Toby was starting to play with her and grabbed one of the decorative rose coloured ribbons of her bodice. "Oh, just like a man! Grabbing at a woman's bosom!" She shot Jareth a sly sideways glance. Bringing the lad down to rest on her hip, Maurasoon badgered her king further. "What part of the day was it for the boy when the summons was made?"

"The sun had already set"

"Ah!" She turned to look at the child now occupying himself by fingering the threads of the embroidered rosebuds on her gown. "So, you would not go to sleep and your dame wished you away!"

"Not his mother, his sister. Look." Making a motion with his hand, Jareth conjured a crystal to his fingers. After allowing it to rotate over his fingertips, he tipped it so it would travel over the back of his gloved hand where it was collected over the tips of the fingers of his other hand. He then flipped the elusive orb over his fingertips, allowing the transparent sphere to rest in his palm. Cupping his hand, the orb was elevated to rest upon a tripod of digits to find a stationary spot at their eye level. Maurasoon had to lean into his shoulder to see clearly while Toby gurgled and pulled at her collar. She shifted his weight onto her arm and started to bounce the boy. Imaged within the orb was a girl on the cusp of womanhood, her long brunette hair sweeping over her shoulders as she swung her head around as she navigated the open air stone passageways.

"Hmmm. Either way, the boy needs to sleep." She turned and placed the boy back into the pit.

Jareth was still entranced by the image contained within. "Such ingenuity," he muttered as he watched her mark a flagstone. A smirk rose unbidden as he watched the resident brownie curse at Sarah's receding figure and flip the stone to a clean side. He knew that residents would be busy for the next few days scrubbing and polishing and weathering the now marked surface to its original worn appearance. _Surely she will become frustrated and rescind her challenge once she realized that the odds were against her,_ he thought to himself.

He had already lined up an adoptive family for the boy in his mind. This particular landowner had managed the land very well and the crop yields were outstanding. Since the landowner and his wife had no children, Jareth thought a strapping son would be a fine reward for such excellent stewardship of the land.

"So, I suggest that we leave the babe be to sleep." Maurasoon tilted her head once she realized that Jareth was not listening. "My Lord?"

Jareth glanced away from the orb, unaware of her statement. Toby was standing in the pit now, complaining loudly about his situation. Some of the goblins were now starting to take an interest in him by poking and prodding the boy. This only added to Toby's complaints. The monarch moved towards the pit, offering Toby the crystal from his hand.

"Don't offer him any distractions! He needs to learn how to comfort himself."

Jareth scowled at her. He did not enjoy being told what to do or not to do, especially not in his own castle and especially not in his own Throne Room, albeit he would never admit that this was his. No, this throne, this castle belonged to the Kingdom and he was the King. "I know how to handle the child. I am not a novice and I have dealt with many similar situations," he retorted peevishly.

"Granted, you've had similar situations, but each child is different." Maurasoon sniffed authoritatively as she held herself with an air of superiority. "Besides, you are doing his new family a disservice if he were to become spoilt by too much handling. Have you ever raised a spoilt child? Not a pleasant thing to do, I can tell you."

Jareth's nerves bristled while she calmly straightened her bodice. How dare she talk down to him! He was older than her; he was her king. Although he knew he did not need to prove anything to anyone, he would show her the folly of her statement. This child he would raise as his own. Gone were the thoughts of the landowner and his just rewards. This lad would be heir to the throne that was situated behind him.

Again, Maurasoon jarred him out of his thoughts, performing a curtsy and requesting permission to leave. Granting her request, he watched as she picked her way from the room, narrowly missed being trampled by a black pig in a helmet which was chased by a band of horned goblins. Her scurrying backside brought an amused smile to his lips**. He needed something to keep him amused here. The goblins were, frankly, a bore. They were so stupid they couldn't find their own way through the Labyrinth. They were without wisdom or wit.**

Climbing the steps to his throne, he pondered that perhaps Maurasoon was right. Perhaps this is what had been missing. Perhaps this is what he needed, someone to devote his time to; someone to mentor. It is the one thing he has never had, or had the opportunity to have, until now. **Lounging in his draped throne, which was in the form of an interrupted circle, Jareth looked at the bawling figure of Toby. With any luck, he might grow up to be an intelligent **youth**…He might make some jokes, or anyway see the point of Jareth's…At the very least, he might have some fresh ideas about mischief. Two-headed sheep, curdled milk, banging pans, snatched nightclothes, barren fruit frees, shifted tables, moldy bread—Jareth had seen it all, much too often. But this lot, rooting and pratfalling around all day, still found such tired old clichés a perfect riot every time. Pitiful, they were.**

Trying to obliterate the scene surrounding him, Jareth covered his eyes as he tapped his crystal topped riding crop against his shin. Irritated, **he looked hopefully at the clock. Half past three, the sword shaped hands indicated. Another nine and half hours to wait, until the goblin striker struck the thirteen. He would have to do something to pass the time.** He glanced over his shoulder as he surveyed the room**. Horned or hairy or helmeted goblins racketed around the place, across the filthy floor, over the steps of the throne, up on the ledges of the room, some chasing chickens, some squabbling over a tidbit, some peering into any vessel in the hope of finding something to eat, some just sitting and gnawing on bones, **one plumed tailed goblin was polishing his boot, **others staring balefully at all the rest through crazed eyes. The place was littered with half-finished platefuls of food, and rotting bits of meat and vegetable matter, garbage and junk. A small pterodactyl flapped around, taking its chances. The curved crown mounted heraldically above the throne, decorated with **dragon's **horns, had been appropriated by a vulture for its nest…The walls had been decorated with** carved stone ribbons that wrapped around the room. Goblins, perched in various poses of repose, sat on shelf outcroppings supported by goblin gargoyle faces. Light filtered in from the stone stairwells and poured in through two rose cut openings that pierced through the fortification.

The din was becoming unbearable.

He stood up from the throne and stalked over to a green skinned goblin with a very prominent hooked nose, sparse hair and a chin that receded into its neck. He grasped that odious fellow by the collar of its shirt, bringing himself face to face with it. Jareth had to steel himself from the stench of stale beer and foul foodstuff that lingered on the goblin's breath.

"You remind me of the babe."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you. 

Sorry I'm late about this, but the thanks are heartfelt all the same. Sincerest thanks to FairiesMidwife and Brindlegreyhound for placing this story on their alerts. Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys!

If you have any questions concerning anything that might sideline this story (eg: timelines, magick/magic, relationships), feel free to ask. I will be happy to explain all.

There's art with this chapter, too! Please go to my profile page, scroll down to the Current Works In Progress section and find the banner for this story. But, go check it out **after **you leave your review. You know, that little blue, sqare button to the left that has 'Go' printed on it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:**That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta:** Anij

**Summary:** Revelations

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer** (dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

**syn:** disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** Sorry for the delay, folks. Real life and now my beta has gone either M.I.A. or A.W.O.L. ( 1/15/2008 update: Murphy's Law: Post an un-beta-ed chapter and _that's_ when your beta gets back to you ) As I see it, there are two more chapters after this one. It isn't plagiarism if I give credit. Areas in bold are either insinuated from or directly lifted from Labyrinth—a novel based on the Jim Henson film, written by A.C.H. Smith, and published by Henry Hold & Company in New York.

* * *

_Why!?!_

_That irritating, infuriating, invigorating..._

_Gi-i-ir-r-r-r-r-rl-l-l!!!_

Jareth fumed internally as he strode down the garden paths. The high hedges formed walls and corridors through the bower that shielded him from prying eyes. Not that the goblins particularly cared for the intricacies of political or romantic intrigues; whoever designed the castle and the surrounding landscapes had their reasons for laying them out as such. All Jareth knew is that he needed to vent some frustration and he would be loathed to let anyone see him in such a state. Not his subjects, not his companion, and least of all, not _her._

So, here he paced out the measure of his anger, exuding the negative energy from his body using the forceful stride and his boots as they struck the ground. The grass was beaten down in a perfect pattern of his sole as the soil absorbed the energy, creating lighter footprints in the lush, emerald green lawn. It did not care how the energy was created; energy was energy. Inanimate objects were immune to the emotional charge that went along with it. Unfortunately for him, as quickly as he walked to rid himself of the anger was just as quickly as he was able to recall the reason for it. He seemed to be an unending font of seething.

_A piece of cake? Cake!?! How trite did she take this all to be? This was Tobias she was being flippant about! How dare she belittle his heir so!_

His teeth clenched, grinding out the rhythm of his fury. The leather of his riding gloves creaking imperceptibly over his knuckles as he formed and reformed his hands into fists. Worst of all, there was little he could do to in retaliation for her insolence. **She was too old to turn, too young to keep--damn her innocent eyes!** If it were not for the innocence there, it would have played very differently in the catacombs beside the oubliette. He knew how to play the game, he had done so many times before with other mothers who were willing to fall for the ruse, but he could not with this one. No, he could not take what was not freely offered. Oh, he could suggest, could swindle and cajole, but he could not lay one finger on her unless she allowed him to.

"Ah, there you are."

Jareth looked up to see Maurasoon, wearing a warm smile that only felt patronizing to him at the moment. Now that his gaze was not turned inward, he was able to see that they were standing within a resting station secluded inside the hedge. Flanking the couple were a pair of marble benches; a trellis covered with ivy and Snow Fairy bluebeards arched overhead, forming a shaded retreat from the job of walking this maze. A scowl crossed his face, deepening the timbre of his voice. "How did you manage to find me?"

Looking at him and then looking at the ground meaningfully, "I just followed the feet." Maurasoon replied.

Directing his glance downward, he noticed the trail of tell-tale footprints. He also noticed that there were two other sets of footprints following the same path. In his blind fury, he had retraced his steps twice over. His complete disregard of his surroundings only served to further infuriate him. Jareth, in a pique, threw himself onto one of the benches and glared at his paramour. "So, now that you have found me, what, of such great importance, do you require me for?"

Maurasoon's expression remained the same, "Perhaps not require, but rather, a query. I noticed that Cook had placed a lovely meat pie in the basket and I was looking for you in the hopes that you would join me for the repast." At this, she moved to the other bench and sat down. "Now, I find you in a state. What vexes you so, my Lord?"

Early training in emotional etiquette gives one the ability to school one's expression without thought; it took an experienced eye to see the acrimony that lay hidden under the surface. Jareth's features, although naturally pale, were almost white with fury while his lips and eyes maintained an almost neutral expression. It took great control not to scowl or frown during such emotions, something that Maurasoon despised. She did not have to wait long before he nearly exploded with his response. Every drop of venom that coursed through his veins found its way to his vocal chords where they tainted his tone and inflection with pure frustration and irritation. The resulting answer was cataclysmic.

"I sent the dwarf to take her back to the beginning of the Labyrinth and she bribed him! I confronted him and just the mere idea of insubordination infuriated me! I can't even trust my own subjects to follow orders!"

Maurasoon admired the embroidery that was embellished throughout the creamy yellow material of her gown as she smoothed out the creases in the full skirt. It was a lovely dress for a warm day, the color of the fabric barely perceptible from the sunlight of the day. Only in the shade of the bower could one see the pale buff spotted with rosebuds. "What would you expect of a dwarf? Their eyes stray so easily by anything that glitters and gleams."

Launching himself off of the bench, Jareth punctuated his tirade with his riding crop, "I was counting on his cowardice to overcome his greed." He slashed at a passing garden faery, swatting it soundly. The pixie let out a yelp of pain as it lost altitude and barely made it into the shelter of the shrubbery before crash landing into the grass.

"I believe that is called 'underestimating your opponent', Sire"

Ignoring her comment, Jareth continued. "Then, that girl called my Labyrinth a piece of cake."

"Oh, dear."

"'Oh, dear' is right!" Jareth stalked the space as if the alcove caged his restless spirit.

Starting to show some interest, Maurasoon leaned forward, "Then what?"

He stopped his pacing. Gazing down the corridor, Jareth refused to look at Maurasoon. Looking anywhere other than at her, where she could read his expression, and not giving her the opportunity to become aware of something he was not. "I removed some time from her quest."

"You didn't!"

"I did and I was well within my rights!" He spun on his heels to face her, anger and frustration the prevalent emotions in control now. "I am restricted from assisting her. No where is it stated that I can not hinder her progress."

Maurasoon pursed her lips in disapproval. "I thought you were supposed to be an impartial observer." Tilting her head, she continued with her thought, "You seem to be having difficulties maintaining your impartiality."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Perhaps that is so."

"Then what happened, Jay?"

Again Jareth turned away, unable to face his friend and advisor. "I noticed that the catacombs were in a state of disrepair and mismanagement. I 'arranged' for the Cleaners to go through."

"With the catacombs occupied?" Maurasoon's face and voice expressed her shocked disbelief. Jareth did not move, nor was there a breeze to offer comfort; he was motionless and emotionless. "You didn't! Jareth, you could have killed them! I'm sure that is a condition of the game--to ensure the health and wellbeing of the challenger?"

"I'm sure the dwarf led her to safety;" he answered in a disinterested tone. Moving to sit next to her, Jareth conjured a crystal to his hand. "Let us take a look, shall we?"

As before in the Throne Room, Maurasoon found herself gazing into an orb focusing on a teen-aged human female, this time she had a companion as she maneuvered through hedges that were very similar to the one she and Jareth were in at the moment. In fact, it could have very well been the very same hedge labyrinth that they were in. Although, some things about the two were different...ah, there it was! The bower they were in was in a garden while the travelers traversed over stone pathways.

"See? Safe and sound." He folded the fingers into its palm, dispersing the bauble into so much faery dust. The feigned disinterest did not last for very long. He was up again, pacing, unable to contain his energy.

"So, all is as it should be." Maurasoon watched Jareth pace back and forth underneath the green canopy. "The challenger is within the Labyrinth, and you are here, awaiting either her victory or defeat. Why are you in such a state?"

"Why? You ask me why am I in such a state?" Using her as an escape valve, Jareth focused all of his emotional energies on her. He did not raise his voice; his very posture was the mechanism of his paroxysm. He closed in on her, bringing himself to her level, placing a hand on either side of her hips on the cool marble bench. He was within inches of her face and she would not blink. He knew she could take his wrath and be able to walk away unscathed. She knew him well enough to diffuse the time bomb that he was right now--at the moment of detonation. Jareth was confident that Maurasoon would get to the bottom of this, even if he could not. After all, what were friends for?

"Perhaps you are right, my Lord." Maurasoon said smoothly, looking straight into his eyes, unflinching. "I already know why you are in such a state."

"Kindly enlighten us."

Leaning back on her own hands to gain some distance between them, she merely smiled enigmatically. "Alright, let's try it this way. Allow me to ask a few questions of you. In return, you must answer them honestly if you really want me to help you. Otherwise, I'll just go into the gardens and wait until your official business here is done."

Jareth pushed himself away from the bench to glower down at her. Losing patience for standing still for too long, he spun on his heel towards the facing stone settee and huffed as he threw himself at the seat, straddling it. Finding no comfort that way, he threw himself back in exasperation, lying down so that he might look up at the green roof, then raised his foot to rest on the flat surface as well. He spoke after a deep sigh, "Proceed."

"What is this girl to you?"

With a moment's thought, he answered firmly, "She is the keeper of great dreams; of a powerful imagination."

"Interesting;" was the reply that greeted his ears. He lifted his head to look at his companion. She was busy making a study of the flowers interspersed between the jade and variegated colored leaves. The square cut of her dress only accentuating the arch of her neck.

"How so?"

Maurasoon looked directly at Jareth now. "She isn't a challenger to you."

Jareth looked at Maurasoon as if for the first time. Contemplating her words, he sat up and swung his leg around to face her. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he clasped his hands together between his knees as he leaned forward to ask; "And what does that represent to you?"

"To me, it represents nothing;" she responded nonchalantly as her gaze followed something over her shoulder, "But to you, Sire, it is the reason why you are having difficulties maintaining your impartiality."

"Elaborate."

Looking back at him as a mother would look to her child when she has to explain something with patience, she continued. "You stated that she is the keeper of great dreams and of a powerful imagination. As a monarch who wields such similar power, you would naturally be drawn to someone of comparable standing."

Jareth bore his gaze into her silently, waiting for her to finish her assessment. Realizing that he was not going to put it together himself, Maurasoon put it as bluntly as she could.

"I believe you have met your match."

It was now Jareth's turn to lean back on his hands, dumbstruck with realization. Could it be? Mulling over his most recent actions, it could stand to reason that the only reason why this chit of a girl was getting under his skin was because she _could_ get under his skin. They were evenly matched, each knowing just how to elicit the exact response they wanted. Conversely, as they could irritate each other, they would also know each other's emotional sensitivities and needs. They would be empathetic to each other, sharing a silent language of the soul.

Yet, what was it that he said to her at their first meeting? _Ah, yes, "You are no match for me."_ Well, who could have known? After all, she is just a child making big wishes with powerful words. Words she should have known would have consequences. She underestimated herself and her abilities in summoning his goblins and now she was further along than he expected. _Well, I shan't underestimate this opponent. _But, if she was his match, and he was not sure that Maurasoon was correct about this, then he was in a quandary. He sat back upright. "If this were the situation, there is nothing I could do now. I am obligated to have her complete the Labyrinth without any assistance guided by me."

Maurasoon quirked an eyebrow almost imperceptibly as a small smile danced across her lips. "Perhaps she doesn't require your assistance. She seems to be doing fine enough without it."

"Who are you supporting in this little contest, Lady Maura?"

"Why you, of course, my Liege. I'm just saying that she doesn't need your assistance. She doesn't need someone to save her; she's on her own mission. What she needs is to become acquainted with you. She needs to see you as caring and desirable. Right now, you are her adversary; she needs to see you as a suitor. She is very young, she can be persuaded."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Jareth enjoined. "I am bound by the Labyrinth to observe her progress or failure. To go against that bond would destroy the Labyrinth and possibly the Kingdom."

Maurasoon pondered on the predicament. "How about a gala? What girl can resist a chance to dress up?"

"A gala? That is a thought. Yes, a gala..." he considered as he stood up and extended a hand to his companion. "Come, milady, there is a luncheon to consume"

She accepted his invitation while extending her own, "You will be joining me?"

"I must decline with my deepest apologies, milady. I have a babe to attend to." He said as she curtsied. He then turned to stride purposely down the corridor in the opposite direction that the footprints in the grass were pointing towards. Maurasoon watched him as his transported himself to wherever he was going.

* * *

Jareth would have liked to spend more of the afternoon with his intended heir, such a pleasant child and one who enjoyed the company and the antics of the goblins. But, there was a soiree to plan and a challenger to sabotage and seduce. The guests were easily enough to gather, life being what it was in the Underground. The Gentry would grasp at any chance for a diversion. 

The days, although pass quickly to one who is accustomed to a twenty-four hour day, for those who are familiar with the normal thirteen hour day, pass in tedium. There is little in the way of mechanical invention needed when one has magick at their disposal and land to work. For the Gentry, who sit in the lap of luxury, managing the rotation of crops and farmers on their feudal parcels of land, living one day after the other with an extraordinarily long lifespan, pass their time either with wars, parties, or politics--or some combination thereof. Their days are spent in an attempt to fill the time to the next affair, be it of a personal nature or political. So, to receive an impromptu invitation to the seat of the Goblin Kingdom for a masque and to await an escort to said fete did not require much planning for a costume for the invitee; they were merely waiting for an excuse.

But, how to get the guest of honor to the masque? Jareth pondered his dilemma while lounging against the wall of the high arched opening that served as an observation window for the tower room. It was a secluded spot in the castle, one that was reserved for his infrequent stays here in the center of his Kingdom. From this vantage point, he could observe a large portion of the city that sprawled out from the castle's walls. To say that the castle was at the center of the Goblin City would be incorrect; it truly was beyond the Goblin City, rising up above the asymmetrical skyline of the dormitories belonging to the inhabitants of the city. The early afternoon sun baked the walls of the clay homes to a bright white.

She obviously would not accept an invitation outright; she would need to be persuaded. Absently, he tapped his chin with steepled fingers. His gaze wandered out over the red clay roofs as the sun bleached them from their original dark umber to the rosy pallor of a ripened fruit. A twisting sensation within his abdomen reminded him that perhaps he should have accepted Maurasoon's invitation to lunch. No matter, there was work to be done. Ah, but he is not alone in not having eaten. A wicked grin overcame his face as a plan formulated.

Now, in what sort of package should he proffer his 'present'? Apples have been overused in the mythologies of her world, to offer her one might alert her to his stratagem. Pomegranates and oranges required too much work before offering up their sweetness. No, he thought, something simple, something easy, something that would not arouse her suspicion. How is it that Maura says…just 'peachy'? Hmm, there is an idea there...

* * *

After noting their location, Jareth transported to the visualization point closest to that site. The image of his countenance in stone blended into the surrounding clearing, making it difficult for the unwary to realize that they were being observed by the Lord of the Labyrinth. He merely needed patience before he would have the opportunity to offer his proposition to the girl. The Labyrinth would direct her to him. Unfortunately, with a day's limit for her to complete the challenge more than halfway past and his lack of sleep, patience was not something that Jareth was in possession at that moment. 

Jareth heard a woman's scream not too far off, then another. _Any minute now_, he thought to himself. His patience was tested when it was the dwarf alone that entered the clearing, running pell-mell, and not watching where he was going. Jareth smiled fiendishly as Hoggle crashed into his knees. **"Well," he said pleasantly, "If it isn't you."**

**

* * *

Author's Note:** I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta:** Anij

**Summary:** The party's over

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer** (dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

**syn:** disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon and Devlin are mine.

**Plea for Reason:** The long awaited Ballroom Scene awaits you in this chapter. Now, to show you the amount of work that went into this, I promise you that both Maurasoon and Devlin are featured in the Ballroom Scene in the movie. My challenge to you is to go and find them. Happy hunting!

* * *

It was quite the party, if she did not say so herself. Not as organized and polished as one of Devlin's arrangements, but when there are a good number of guests with enough wine and spirits to lift spirits and lower moralities, it would make for a fabulous fete given any amount of notice. 

Devlin was in attendance, with his usual scowl. The fact that this ball was a masquerade only added to his petulance, let alone to have been left out of the logistics for this party. Sometimes, Maurasoon wondered if he enjoyed planning a party more than attending the party. _Knowing him_, she thought ruefully to herself, _he's the only guest that would have been put off by the short notice of the invitation_. He needed to magick himself to the seat of the Kingdom to attend, something he rarely did. His foul mood was beginning to tip her attitude against him; she found herself answering him snidely, if she bothered to answer him at all.

They were at the mercy of the castle's stores to procure appropriate attire for the affair. Although the butler's closet had an ample supply, it simply was not prepared for an elaborate masquerade ball. She settled for undyed articles of men's clothing, imitating wraiths of the creatures who would be attending the event. It was easier for Devlin, or so Maurasoon thought, for him to dress in men's clothing than for her. At least the breeches did not sag and bag around his hips in an unflattering manner and most would not think twice about a man in men's clothing at a masque. All he could complain about was the fact that the tri-corner hat was too large, the mask did not fit his high forehead, and there were no breathing holes on his mask.

"Well, I should be thankful that there isn't an opening for the mouth, either." She groused to him as she pinned a burgundy arisaid to her left shoulder. Let Jareth give her an argument about how she has chosen to wear it! At least her hair did not have to be ornately dressed to match this costume; she wore it loose from underneath her tricorne. She threw a thin leather jacket to him. "Put that on, too. You look like you're ready to go to bed."

"Now, there's a thought."

Maurasoon pursed her heavily rouged lips in a sarcastic pucker before they were both encapsulated in the transporting bubble.

No amount of teasing or flirting with Maurasoon or any of the other attendees present would change the fact that he did not like to be distracted when he had his own provisions to attend to. She could tell that, for the entire duration of the party, he was keeping his temper in check while attempting to corral Jareth alone to ascertain just what he was trying to do. He had no luck in cornering the king, who was busy being the host and the center of attention. She did notice Jareth and the challenger exchange glances more than once during the course of the soirée as she whirled around with her own partners in the dance. But, Maurasoon had other things on her mind than to worry too much after them.

She did not stay as long as she would have liked. Maternal instincts are hard to overcome, even when it is not your own child. Maurasoon left the enchanted crystal ballroom with an uneasy feeling that she needed to return to the castle and see to the King's charge. Upon her arrival, Tobias was in such a state that he was at the point that he was crying for the sake of crying. It took her most of the remainder of the evening just to calm him down with walking the corridors and balconies, then into the night to get him to sleep. She was exhausted by the time she laid him in the makeshift crib the wet nurse had arranged for the boy.

If it were not for the human wet nurse and some of the more seasoned staff, Maurasoon had no idea how Jareth was able to handle a challenger and a child with the cavalcade of moronic goblins in attendance within the castle. They were worse than a drunken babysitter who could not care less about the charge they were supposed to be watching. The best they could do was to engage the toddler with silly sounds and exaggerated expressions. Most looked on mutely, barely registering that Tobias was upset. It was all Maurasoon could do to not kick them out of her way to get to the child.

Now, she was sure the gala was continuing on in full swing as she walked the quiet corridors alone with her thoughts. She wondered how Jareth was faring with the challenger and his own challenge. _Not to worry, when has he ever not gotten what he wanted? But is this what he wants, or is it what he needs_? Her brow formed uncustomary furrows in response to her contemplations. Just because she was lucky enough to have found her soul-mate in Gary Elbridge, did that give her the justification to recommend that this human girl-child as a possible match for the King of the Goblins? More so, she did not even know the moral fiber or fortitude of this person to have even made the suggestion. She shook her head in self-accusation. _Oh Mauri, what a pickle you might have just caused! _Maurasoon pulled the heavy golden brocade dressing robe closer around her body. Although the days were long and warm, the stones gave off their heat too quickly to last through the night. She had a chill that for all the world she could not understand.

She had tried to sleep after putting the boy down, but her rest was uneasy. Rather than get more tangled in the sheets, Maurasoon donned on the robe and paced the halls once again, this time to soothe herself. Not so lost in thought, she noted that the shutters on the high windows were closed to the night and the winds that usually accompany it. She listened to the sounds of gentle snores of the goblins and animals strewn in different rooms that she walked past on silent bare feet. Although her mind could not wander in its exhaustion, it most definitely was not directing her path. Her feet led her past dimly lit candles whose flames gently flickered in the wake that she created. She presently found herself facing the imposing oak doors leading into the Throne Room.

Without a thought, Maurasoon entered. Her brain barely notated her surroundings as she looked within the chamber. Even in repose, the goblins were in a complete disarray. Snoring and grunting in their sleep, the minions of the land slept like sibling young of some wild beast, nuzzling each other for comfort and warmth. There were no sleeping quarters, no beds, cots or mats for them to rest their bodies on. It appeared that they merely fell asleep where they were when they shut their bulging little eyes, in the midst of whatever they were doing. There were goblins asleep on the floor, in the pit, by the kegs, on the kegs, on ledges, shelves--any flat, horizontal surface it seemed--except for the throne.

Illuminated by the moonlight flooding in from the unshuttered circular windows sat Jareth deeply within his throne. Its radiance poured over him, highlighting the crests and creating shadows in the creases of his wardrobe. The soft curves of the ruffled jabot were turned into luminescent mother-of-pearl by the crystal moon. His head was encapsulated by a halo created by phosphorus hair; his face in shadows, lighter in contrast to the darkness of his high collared battle cloak. The edging of the handkerchief detail of the cloak became defined with the natural muted lighting. The cape was thrown open as to enshroud his arms that were resting along the horn that was the back support of his cathedra.

Maurasoon guided herself towards the focal point of the room on soundless feet, wrapping the dressing gown around her form tightly, both for warmth against the night chill and to keep the edges away from the filth of the goblins. She stepped gingerly over grubby limbs, half-filled tankards that had not spilled like their brethren, horn adorned helmeted heads, plates of half eaten meals that were now detritus, fouled by slopped ale and chickens that had walked across them. Mutely she approached the dais, intent on the task of crossing the room without waking the inhabitants.

"She rejected me."

Slightly startled by the sound of a voice, Maurasoon stopped to look up at the seated figure. "My Lord?" She inquired softly.

Without so much as a shift in position, he continued more vehemently. "She rejected me! She ran from me! I removed the memory of her purpose so that she would see me as I am; just a man--a king--not her nemesis, and she still rejected me."

Maurasoon continued her ascent of the dais and stood before her king, trying to assess his mood in the night. Cautiously, she lowered herself onto his knee, wrapping her arms around his torso, offering comfort as if towards one of her own sons. Stoically, Jareth allowed this intrusion of his space; perhaps the only one who he would allow to do so. So near to him now, she could see the expression that would not allow his pain to show. She gathered his shoulders within her embrace and guided his face towards her. Her shoulders had been used many times in the past for comfort, now they would be serviced again.

Jareth, within the enclave of Maurasoon's embrace, knowing that he was shielded, allowed himself the privilege of his release. Wrapping his own arms around her waist, he buried his face in the curtain of her unbound hair. Only the sound of his ragged breath gave the suggestion of his great emotional pain. She understood. She did not need to hear any more from the evening. She also knew by his reaction that this could not be the end.

Not wanting to startle him, Maurasoon tried to comfort him with words. "My Lord, she is young still. She doesn't know nor is she in control of her own emotions. You will not woo her in one meeting. Try again." Jareth's breathing had started to even out now, she could feel it against her own chest. Lifting his head away from her shoulder and cradling his face within her hands, she gazed tenderly upon the face of her dear friend. Gently, ever so lightly, Maurasoon placed a kiss on his lips.

Jareth accepted the comforting kiss, but demanded more. His pride and ego were wounded deeply, a mere application of salve would not do. Strengthening his embrace, his hand moved up her spine to her neck as he poured all of his pent-up frustration onto her mouth. The kiss that Jareth returned was so fierce that Maurasoon thought she would be overwhelmed if she did not meet his passion. Her hands slipped from his cheekbones to allow her fingers to intertwine in his hair. Interpreting this as a signal to continue, Jareth attempted to deepen the kiss, requesting entrance with his tongue. Maurasoon broke the kiss by pulling gently on his hair in an attempt to lift his face from hers.

"You will see her again at the end of the contest?" She tried not to pant in her effort to regain her composure.

He pulled her in closer with his arms, more for comfort than for passion. Placing his chin on her shoulder, Jareth closed his eyes, enjoying the press of a mature woman against his masculinity. "Of course."

Maurasoon gentled the embrace. "Try then. It's worth an attempt. But now, it's been a long day. You're exhausted." At this, she stood up, allowing her hand to travel down his arm until she caught his fingers within her own. "You need to rest. Come to bed, Jay."

Without releasing her hold, she slowly started down the steps. The connection was lost when she realized that Jareth was not following her; he had not even risen out of the seat.

"I can't sleep."

His statement paused her descent. It was her turn for her face to be in the shadows with the window granting access to the moon. She looked back over her shoulder, her loose hair split over it with the torque of her neck. Her dressing gown hung open, revealing the plain cotton sleep chemise she wore underneath. In the moonlight, the soft, unrestrained curves of her body were highlighted to a soft sheen.

"Who said anything about sleep?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

In the lands that the Gaels occupied, what we now know as Ireland, Scotland and Wales, the land was divided by ruling families, or clans. In Scotland, as a means of distinguishing each other on the battlefield and on hunts, each family devised a distinctive weave to their cloths, known as tartans. As the Victorian Age progressed and the fashion swept the nation, tartans, (which were banned by the English rule in 1745) became a means to denote family, or clan, status.

How a Scottish woman wore her family tartan became a badge of her rank and availability. The width of the sash also denoted the ranking within the clan. The wider the sash, or if the sash was so wide that it needed to be pleated, the higher up in the echelon your family was in the clan.

If a woman wore her tartan sash pinned to her right shoulder with the drape coming across her chest diagonally, it meant that she was an unmarried woman of that family. If a woman wore her family tartan sash pinned to her left hip, with the band of cloth coming around her torso over her right shoulder, it meant that she was married. If she married out of her clan (a bride of peace), then the tartan she would be wearing would be her family's tartan, not her husband's. The only time a woman would wear a tartan sash on the left shoulder would be if she were married to the family clan leader or to a colonel in the Highland brigands.

An arisaid is a larger, wider piece of tartan shawl that was used as an outer garment. It was worn pinned to the shoulder and draped over the back, instead of over the front as with a sash, and then tucked into the waistband or belt of a woman's dress. Wearing the family tartan sash as an arisaid became popular due to the requirements of the dance and the need for free movement of the arms. For Maurasoon to wear the arisaid on the left shoulder was a statement that she was a married woman, either to the King or to a colonel.

Okay folks, this is the second to the last chapter. Never fear, I'm hard at work with the sequel, Brick by Brick. So, for all of you that have been reading along and not reviewing, now would be a good time to show your appreciation.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** That's What Friends Are For

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Summary:** Aftermath

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer** (dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

**syn:** disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters and song lyrics has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

**Plea for Reason:** And now the time has come, and so I face the final curtain. My friends, I say to you…

* * *

The metallic clanging was supposed to wake her up. Groaning, Mary flailed around to find the alarm clock to silence it, if only for another fifteen minutes. In her mind's eye, she could see herself, lying in bed, Gary oblivious to the world, snoring, as she batted her arm in widening arcs. Twisting within the sheets, Maurasoon realized that she was dreaming of her previous life. There still was that annoying metallic clanging ringing around her head, though. She opened her eyes to a room that was dim with the dawn's light. 

Stretching while rising from the bed, Maurasoon cleared her mind of the haziness the short sleep had left. She padded over to the entry to the room from the viewing platform and pulled back the heavy drape that helped to keep out the sun's light. It was difficult to find the source of the tinny reverberations as they bounced off the walls of the goblin's homes. Leaning over the balustrade, she peered about until she noticed a commotion within one of the gates. This did not bode well.

Reentering the room, Maurasoon quickly made her toilette and dressed in her own clothes that she wore when she arrived at the castle. No sooner than when she was finished, she heard the clanging of a bell sounding within the castle walls. Opening the door to her suite, she was accosted with the sight of a stream of armored goblins rushing through the halls, some entering other rooms to summons more of their comrades, but mostly heading towards the main portal to face the enemy.

_'She must've gotten through the city gates!' _Maurasoon thought to herself as she quickly shut the door to her sitting room. She stood against it with her back bracing the door, as if the encroacher were right outside, forcing her way in. Biting her lip, she tried to think of the best course of action. Jareth was more than preoccupied with the defense of the castle, the movement of troops and the welfare of the child. Where could she be of most service? Since he did not summon her, she thought it would be best to stay out of his way until called for. She nervously paced around the room, twisting the hem of her vest within her fingers, before she sat down on a divan, waiting for something to occur.

The din was weirdly muted within the walls of the room. The cacophonic clatter of arms and ricocheting bullets seemed surreal to the battle that was being waged outside of the castle and within her mind. Maurasoon kept her hands busy with the smoothing and placement of her skirt panels and tracing the weave of the material. This did nothing to allay her fears of where the challenger was and what Jareth was planning to do for his endgame.

_'He never did have a good endgame,'_ ran through her head, thinking back to some of the stratagems she had seen him use with Devlin. Devlin won most every time, except for the times that even Maurasoon could see that he allowed Jareth the victory.

Then, silence. Complete lack of sound, much like before a wild storm when even the insects were too busy in their preparations for the expected onslaught to sing their usual songs. Maurasoon stilled her hands, not by her own thoughts but rather by the general presence of anticipation. Looking up, it appeared that even the dust motes floating in the new morning's light seemed frozen in their places. By some outside volition, the short hairs on the back of her neck raised--a sure sign of the use of deep, powerful magick. The kind of magick that taps into the very land itself. The kind of magick that could create or destroy with just an utterance of the right words.

"Dear Goddess, Warrior Woman, Mother of All," she murmured. Maurasoon was not one for prayer, but she knew that the Ancient One worked in her own fashion. She fervently hoped that the Powers That Be would consider her plea, "Assist my King in his objective!"

Quiet reigned. Without a sound, Maurasoon felt a shift; she could not quite place what it was that moved, but there was a definite movement. Looking around anxiously, she noticed that the dust motes were swimming again within the beams of sunlight. They were joined with a fine powder of rock that was starting to sift from between the stones of the walls.

Rising swiftly from the divan, Maurasoon felt the plane of the floor shift from perfectly level to a minor incline. The shifting stones were marring the smoothness of the walls. A groan emanating from within the walls accompanied her exclamation of, "By all that is holy Above and Below, what is going on!"

The rumbling was felt more so than it was heard. Now it became apparent that the large blocks that constructed the castle were becoming unmoored from the cement that kept them together. Chips and chunks of the wall joined with the dust and lime powder in the beams of light. For all that it seemed improbable, it certainly felt as if the entire building was being torn apart. Thinking quickly, Maurasoon realized that she had to get out of the building before it collapsed on her. She ran to the archway leading to the viewing platform. Her room was on the second floor overlooking an expanse of lawn. It was a parched tan, just what it should be for this time of the year; not such a good cushion to land on when jumping out of a balcony. She had no choice; it was either jump or be taken down with the castle. Biting her lip in nervousness, Maurasoon clamped her eyes tightly shut and leapt out into the air as the balcony crumbled beneath her feet. After that, she did not know what happened.

* * *

The first sensation that Maurasoon experienced was dry warmth upon her forehead. A groan was wrenched from her throat and her mind rejoiced, '_I groan, therefore I live!'_ Brown eyes flutter open to the bright, morning light as it filled the Underground as if it were to be like any other day. Now her brain was wondering if living was such a good thing given the amount of pain that was registering from all the different parts of her body. She winced as she gingerly tested her limbs for any breaks or lameness--none that she could find or would hinder her motion. Something felt thick and cloying underneath her hair, just below the crown line. Putting her hand to her head, she was not shocked to see it come away sticky with her own blood. _'Well, at least I survived the jump,'_ she thought ruefully. But, what of Jareth, the challenger, the babe? 

Standing up was only the first challenge. The next became the ability to find level footing amidst the rubble. Barely one stone was left atop another; the only thing rising was the dust from the debris as it lifted in the bright, late morning sun. Staggering upon the shifting mass beneath her feet, Maurasoon wandered in the general direction that the Throne Room used to reside. Apprehension filled her when it appeared that she was the only entity standing. Not even the dragons took to the air in the mayhem. Apprehension turned to panic upon sighting a feathery, white expanse sprawled out amongst the stones.

Maurasoon made her way to the other casualty. She breathed a small sigh of relief to notice the shape was man-sized. If Jareth were injured in his spirit form, there would be very little for her to do to help him. She dropped to her knees, almost grateful not to have to walk over the jagged fragments of the castle any longer. "My Liege?" She called to him, hoping that the ruffling of the feather cloak was his shallow breathing and not just the wind playing with her eyes.

"Jay?" A timid hand reached out to touch the downy white where his shoulder blades should have been. Ever so gently, imperceptible to the eye, her hand moved, and not on her own accord. The king lived, if only by just.

"Jareth Mac Righ Erwain, King of the Goblins, Lord of the Labyrinth, Guardian of Finias, Protector of the Underground. Arise!" Maurasoon called upon the most basic of magick to help her king. Within seconds, a groan erupted from underneath the mop of platinum blonde hair.

Catching Jareth from underneath his arms, she maneuvered his body into a reclined seated position to ease his breathing. The effort, along with her own ordeal, tired her out. She wiped some hair from her face, smearing her forehead with stone ash and blood.

Neither one knew for how long they rested against the stones warming in the late morning sun. She, lending herself to support him, not questioning him for a lack of energy as well as decorum; he, with his eyes closed and creased with pain, his face drawn with effort. It was his voice that broke through the unnatural silence.

"She rejected me."

Maurasoon did not respond; she did not move, she did not acknowledge. There was nothing to say or do that would heal his pain or rectify the damage that this human inflicted upon his kingdom.

Jareth continued on. "She rejected and denied me access to her."

"She didn't know what she was doing." Maurasoon found her voice saying through a parched throat. "She's too young and there is no one Aboveground who would know of any way to cause this sort of damage."

Even in his weakened state, Jareth's voice carried the steel that could cut her down to the quick. "Are you defending her?"

Maurasoon shifted her weight, sitting up taller once Jareth's indignation gave him strength to support himself. "No, just explaining her. What has been done here is a grave injustice." Looking into his face, she asked; "How did it occur?"

"I offered her dreams to her," he said within a sigh. "The dreams of the imagination. The ones that she can not even admit to herself." Now, his voice turned bitter. "She rejected them and me at the same time. Any suggestions now, _my paramour_?" His eyes flashed an accusatory glint as he looked her down.

His inflection and tone spoke far more of his ire than the words ever could. She had never felt so terrified in all of her life than at that moment when Jareth was asking for accountability. Could all of this have been avoided with different advice from her? They would never know. "What else is there to do, my Lord? Look around you and see."

For the first time since regaining consciousness, Jareth gazed upon what was once the seat and the power of his kingdom now reduced to rubble. "All this destruction..." The sound of his anguish mirrored his expression as he took in the scene. "It wasn't enough to destroy me; she had to destroy my castle?"

"She didn't know, Jay..."

"No, she didn't know." His head whipped around to face the woman who nearly cowered beneath his glare. "Nor did you. But, ignorance is no defense." Jareth gathered his long legs beneath him so that he might rise with the dignity and grace of his station. "In time, that girl will pay for her crimes against the kingdom." He held out his hand to Maurasoon. Tentatively, she took the offered assistance, but Jareth yanked her up roughly and she nearly stumbled into him. "And me. In the meantime," his voice barely audible if it was not for her close proximity, "You have your own situation to concern yourself over. No longer will you need to worry yourself about your King or of the affairs of Court. I will notify you when your assistance will be required at Court, Maurasoon." With that, he released her wrist with enough force to cause her to stagger backwards.

Maurasoon gaped at her king in shocked silence. Did she understand him correctly? Was she no longer welcomed at Court? Blinking in incredulousness, she closed her mouth to swallow her pride and to gather her courage. "What are you going to do now, My Lord?"

Jareth had started to walk away, off of the unlevel surface of the ruins of the castle, but turned to regard her and her question. "You should be more diligent about finding shelter for yourself. Night will come soon enough and the goblins have their own troubles to deal with than to have to put up a 'noble'." With that, Jareth tilted his head back and sang out a note holding one word. By the time he reached the flat surface of the square that once was outside the main entrance to the castle, a large shadow was being cast by the dragon looking to land.

She watched, numb with disbelief, as Jareth mounted the beast bareback and without a bridle. He gave her one final, baleful look before singing out to return home. As she observed the dragon lift into the bright sky, Maurasoon realized...

She was on her own.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you. 


	10. Chapter 10

_Bleeb, buh-bleep, buh-bleep, buh-bleep, buh-bleep, buh-bleep…that's all, folks! _

So, this is the part where all the readers who didn't want to commit to reviewing the story because they didn't know if it would finish or if they would like the ending get to either sing my praises, say thank you, or just yell at me for leaving them hanging this way.

I would like to thank Anij for beta-ing most of this and Tishfield for giving me helpful insights. What are friends for, if not for the occasional reassuring back-patting?

Now, now, don't get yourself all in a huff, I have the next in the series, Brick by Brick, already plotted out. But first, I have a couple of shorts in line that should be out before March 21, 2008. So, watch the lists or put me on your Author Alert list (see the blue, square button down there, on the left, marked 'Go'?) so as not to miss one exciting minute!

Caio.

Your ever so humble author;

Yodeladyhoo


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